


Torture - La Tortura

by malu (orphan_account)



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:29:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/malu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>”Does it still hurt?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Fernando’s head turns in slow motion and when their eyes meet, it’s a pain that goes straight to Sergio’s heart.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Yes, it does.” The striker says with a nod and from the look on his face, Sergio knows that he is not talking about that bruise at all.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~Yo ya no voy a llorar... por tí</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just playing! It's not real and only a product of weird imagination!
> 
> I'm still new to the football fandom and obiously not a native speaker, so bear with me, I'll try to learn and grow ♥ And please let me know what you think!
> 
> ...and more to follow (rating will be Explicit eventually, because I really cannot do stories without porn as it seems, but for now, I'll leave it blank)

**Prologue, Madrid, January 2015**

It’s a cool day, rain drizzling down and wind howling in the streets and they’re on Fernando’s balcony, backs against the wall, shoulders almost touching. Back then, they would have been leaning against each other, he thinks, swallowing against the lump that’s beginning to form in his throat. Fernando rummages the pockets of his jeans, producing a pack of cigarettes and clumsily taking one out, his fingers almost numb from the cold.

”Want one?” He holds the box over to Sergio, staring at his feet, avoiding the younger man’s gaze. He doesn’t have to look, he knows that hurt is written all over the other man’s face, along with anger, disappointment and despair. _Strange enough you’re here in the first place._

”Yes, please.” Sergio’s voice is hoarse and he takes one, leaning over to Fernando and he lights it for him, reluctantly glancing over Sergio’s face, his fear confirmed when he finds it full of the exact emotions he expected. Lowering his gaze back to his feet, he stores away the visible proof of his vice, one that should make him ashamed but that he stopped caring about a long time ago. Not like he does it around the kids. 

They sit in silence, buried in their hoodies, determinedly not looking at each other and Fernando knows it’s all his fault that it’s ever gone this far. Everything that’s gone wrong between has gone wrong because of him and it’s a guilt that’s weighing heavy on his shoulders, because at the end of the day, the things that went wrong have broken them in more than one way and while he’s fine with making his own life miserable, he will never forgive himself for dragging Sergio down with him. He sighs, exhaling a cloud of smoke that he watches dissipate in the air around them, thin grey lines vanishing one after the other. His eyes get stuck on his wedding band and his stomach twists instantly, leaving behind that same nauseous feeling that has accompanied him through such a large part of the past years, a constant reminder of his imperfection, his incapability to be there for the people who love him.

*

From below, he hears the grumbling sounds of the city and he shivers in the cold, his cigarette burning down in his hand almost without him taking any drags. He never really liked the taste and always just agreed because of Fernando. A ridiculous form of peer pressure. And to be honest, Fernando would never have pressured him. But somehow, cigarettes made him feel connected to the striker, the shared secret always somehow meaningful. More meaningful even when they shared the same cigarette, but that’s another story and certainly not one for now. Probably not ever again. At least, he got Fernando to light it for him, like he’s done so many times, allowing their fingers to brush against each other with a soft touch that sent shivers down the defender’s spine. For Sergio, the taste of tobacco is inseparably connected to Fernando Torres, the man who took his heart. He hears him sigh next to him and he knows that Fernando is sorry. By now, Sergio even has grown up enough to understand, to see why the older of them both has taken all the steps, why he made these decisions. Some of them he’s made himself by now. That’s not making it easier though, not when you know that the person next to you is your soulmate. Not when you want them to be yours and only yours. He stares into the grey sky, feeling that same hopelessness drown him that’s been lingering between them for so long now. 

When he’s taken the final drag and stubbed the cigarette off the balcony, It takes him quite a bit of courage to lift his head and look at Fernando, who’s still staring away from him, at some meaningless point in the grey sky. He knows every line in _his_ Nando’s face, every drop of ink on his body, every sensitive spot on his skin, he has mapped him countless times and sitting next to him with a distinct gap between them is heartbreaking and nerve-wrecking and it’s difficult to restrain himself to just let his eyes wander over Fernando’s face. And when he does, his gaze of course falls onto the bruise on the older man’s jaw, sending a wave of regret over Sergio and making him forget all his resolves, when his shaky finger reaches out and traces over it.

”Does it still hurt?”

Fernando’s head turns in slow motion and when their eyes meet, it’s a pain that goes straight to Sergio’s heart.

”Yes, it does.” The striker says with a nod and from the look on his face, Sergio knows that he is not talking about that bruise at all.


	2. Solace - El Consuelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The date marks their loss against France in the round of last 16 during the World Cup 2006.

**World Cup 2006, Germany, June 27th**

Sergio has already packed his clothes and is now busy in the bathroom, collecting the rest, when he hears someone enter their room, door slammed shut. He is about to call for Fernando, making sure it’s really his roommate, when he hears a string of swears echoing through the room, accompanied by the sounds of someone maybe punching the wall. He freezes in his moves, because clearly, he has never seen Fernando like that. Or heard him like that. And that means something, because they’ve known each other for a while. They hang out together. He hears another loud curse and growl. This is new to him. He’s pretty sure the striker has either completely forgotten about him or assumes he’s not there and Sergio doesn’t know what to do, because he doesn’t want Fernando to be embarrassed or angry about him witnessing the incident. It would be ridiculous to keep hiding in the bathroom though. He is still musing about the options, his toiletries forgotten, when the swearing stops and he is about to go to Fernando, when he hears the most heartbreaking sobs. And that’s new, too. Sergio rummages his head to think of something to do and then decides that he’s being a coward, something he really doesn’t want. And it’s not like he’s never comforted a crying teammate. Or has never cried himself over a bad result. But for some reason he cannot quite put his finger on, this is different. Because it’s Fernando, who usually isn’t like this. And because there’s something about the wrecked sounds he’s hearing that makes his heart clench uncomfortably.

He needs a last deep breath before he pushes the door open, finding Fernando on his bed, curled up into a ball, sobbing like a child. El Nino, Sergio thinks and his heart clenches even more.

”Nando-“ And that’s all the words his brain will form right now, while he stands in the doorframe, feeling more helpless than ever, swaying on his feet because he cannot decide whether he should walk over to his friend or not.

Fernando doesn’t react to his voice, the sobbing continues and the striker’s entire body shudders. Sergio cannot quite say why later, but he cannot bear the sight any longer and moves to sit on the edge of the back, a hand tentatively on Fernando’s back, between his shoulder blades. When the other doesn’t flinch away, he starts rubbing circles and mumbles some comforting nonsense. All the same shallow things he despises hearing himself, things like “it will be okay”, "you'll have another chance, you're still young", spill out of his mouth because of his deep helplessness that makes his mind incapable of coming up with anything decent. At least, the sobbing stops. Sergio inhales sharply, relieved that he’s apparently doing something right. Eventually, Fernando’s breathing gets back to regular and they still stay like that, making Sergio realize that his heart is still clenching and his stomach is feeling strange.

They’ve been on the bed for what felt like an eternity when eventually, Fernando starts moving and Sergio is quick to pull his hand away, suddenly very self-conscious about the situation, hoping he didn’t embarrass his friend with intruding into the outburst. And then Fernando sits up and looks him straight in the eyes and if Sergio didn’t know better, it sent a sting to his crotch. But that’s not what happens between them. Not that he hasn’t been with men. Not that Fernando hasn’t, they’ve talked about it. But together? Never. Because teammates are forbidden fruit. Only, the way Fernando is staring at him right now, cheeks flushed, hair ruffled, lip bitten and eyes red and a bit puffy but also somehow dark… if Sergio didn’t know better, he’d think Fernando wants them to-

He never gets to finish the thought, because out of nowhere, Fernando’s hands reach out to cup his face and pull him closer, crashing their lips against each other. And now, this is _really_ new between them. Sergio acts on instinct only, because his brain has long stopped working consciously, and so he reciprocates, opens his mouth slightly, allows for their tongues to meet. Fernando’s lips are soft, softer than any man he’s kissed until now and when their saliva mixes and Sergio starts licking into his mouth, Fernando tastes like coffee and tobacco and Sergio likes it, because it’s new and so Fernando, whom he knows sneaks out for the occasional secret cigarette. Somehow, he loses himself completely in that kiss, his hands long moved into Fernando’s hair, his body leaning closer and closer towards the older man and at some point, their kiss greedier now, teeth joining in, taste of copper lingering between them, he hears Fernando moan softly and the sound goes straight to his groin. This time he’s sure. And that’s when he notices he is actually half hard already. His eyes, that at some point he must have squeezed shut, snap open, his movements still and he locks eyes with Fernando, who looks a bit out of it, still ruffled and most likely also quite aroused. They stare at each other for one of those moments that are too short and too long at the same time and Sergio really tries to think but completely fails to get anything remotely coherent together. He knows it’s a bad idea, he knows teammates are on his list of never-touch people, he knows he should stop it, because he is the one with the clearer mind here, but when Fernando raises his eyebrows questioningly, he still nods.

From then on, it’s urgent, pressured, their hands fly under the other’s shirts, shedding them and they meet in a tight embrace, naked chests flush against each other, lips crashing violently again. Sergio moves to straddle Fernando, bringing their crotches into contact for the first time, even if separated by some layers of underwear and sweatpants. Fernando moans again when Sergio does it and it give him a strange confidence, a good feeling of being able to do this to his friends, making him try again with the same result. And even through the fabric, it’s clear that Sergio is not the only one with an erection here. He isn’t really sure about the lines here though and would rather Fernando chose how they continue and the striker does, greedy finger scratching over Sergio’s back, resting on the curve of his ass and sliding inside his pants.

”Off?” Fernando pulls his head back and Sergio cannot stop staring at the swollen, red lips, coated with saliva, a small string of the latter even connecting them. He nods frantically and sits up a bit, shoving down the rest of his clothes, clumsily wriggling out of it, while Fernando does the same. When Fernando’s arms wrap around him and pull him in now, their bodies meet properly, naked skin against naked skin. The friction is so delicious, it makes both of them moan now and soon after he is lying on top of Fernando, both of them rolling and bucking their hips, quickly finding a common rhythm. Their lips stay locked, the kiss muffling the sounds of their moans and growls and Fernando’s hands are digging into his shoulders sharply, probably drawing blood. Sergio is keeping his hands in his friends hair, running through the strands, fingers clutching when he feels himself get closer to orgasm, feeling the familiar warmth spread through his stomach. There is no finesse between them, only urgency and need and Sergio, in the back of his head, thinks they really should have talked about this or not done it at all, but Fernando feels to good against him, Fernando's dick is too arousing when it slides against his own, so that there is no way Sergio is stopping this now.

He tries to press out a desperate ‘close’, but Fernando’s hands move into his hair in turn, firmly holding his head in place, their lips still pressed against each other and he almost cries into Fernando’s mouth when all the tension inside of him suddenly bursts into white hot nothingness. With his vision blurred and his mind dizzy, he feels the striker’s hips move up a few more times before there is more hot stickiness spreading between their stomachs and all their movements still. Desperate for air, he takes his head away, Fernando not stopping him this time and for a while, only the sounds of their panting fills the room while they rest against each other.

With the afterglow wearing off slowly, the ability to think returns to Sergio’s head and it’s not a nice moment. In fact, it makes his cheeks burn with shame when he realized what he just allowed to happen. Under him, Fernando has his eyes still shut but is breathing more evenly now, too. He looks incredibly young like this, with the slight blush still on his cheeks and the messy hair, a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. It makes Sergio feel strange, seeing him like this, almost as if- No, he isn’t going there, he decides and quickly scrambles out of the bed, Fernando only groaning and turning to lie on his stomach, face buried in the pillows. Helplessly running a hand through his hair, Sergio makes his way to the shower. And if he knows anything right now, then that he made a mistake. A big one.

_Sólo de errores se aprende_  
 _Y hoy sé que es tuyo mi corazón_


	3. Change - El Cambio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fixed embarrassing error where I referred to Fernando as Sevillan so that it should all make more sense now *blushes crimson* Sorry! 
> 
> And thank you for the feedback, always so appreciated ♥

**Madrid, July 2nd 2007**

They never mention the incident again. They pack, they go home, they resume their routine and they hang out the way they used to and it really seems like it’s forgotten. Sometimes, Sergio catches himself frowning at Olalla, feels jealous that she can have what he might like, but then he remembers that it was only a moment, that it shouldn’t mean anything and somehow, it doesn’t. For what it’s worth, they could never be more than friends and friendships that got a bit out of hand in emotional moments weren’t anything new in his world. Of course, Sergio is angry with himself for breaking his rule, for hooking up with a teammate, but luckily, he thinks to himself, they are both more than mature enough to know that and respect it. The short moments where his eyes linger on Fernando that one second too long, the occasional memory from that one night resurfacing, Fernando’s flushed face with the disheveled hair back in front of his eyes, those moments don’t mean anything. They can’t mean anything. And to make sure that he is absolutely over it, he has affairs, some shorter, some longer, all greedy and hasty – but without any feelings involved. He shrugs off Fernando’s frowns when they’ve gone to a club together and Sergio leaves with another girl, because he’s sure Fernando is just jealous of Sergio’s liberties, while the striker is awaited by Olalla at home. With the memories slowly fading and regular life swallowing them more and more, Sergio comes to the conclusion that yes, they’re okay, they haven’t broken anything, they’ll be fine – as best friends and buddies. Except…

_Hotel La Roja, Room 159, 21.00h_

Sergio stares at the text, eyes wide and breath hitching. He doesn’t know the number it came from, but he does see the room number instantly and there is no doubt. Only, Fernando is on vacation; he told him, they’ve called each other a couple of days ago. So… it shouldn’t be from Fernando, but 159… it can only possibly be from the striker. Sergio still stares at his phone, shivering slightly by now, head spinning from the rapid thoughts that keep popping up. He thinks it through, again and again, always coming to the same conclusion, it must be from Fernando – if only because deep down inside, Sergio _wants_ it to be from Fernando. He doesn’t even have to think about going or not, doesn’t even consider that it could be some sort of set up. All he knows is that Fernando must have a good reason to approach him in this way and as a best friend, he is determined to be there. Only best friend of course, he won’t even allow himself to think about the implication of a secret meeting in a hotel room late at night. And he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, because fellow players aren’t okay, he reminds himself, while he rummages his wardrobe, searching for a specific pair of jeans. One that he knows fit especially snuggly – and he blushes deep red when he realizes what he is doing here, that he is actually trying to impress. But even now that he’s realized his ridiculous behavior, he cannot stop himself from continuing, cannot keep himself from carefully picking his favorite black T-Shirt or fixing his hair for the hundredth time. And he downs a final shot of whiskey before he makes it to the taxi, trying to calm his failing nerves without much success, heart still hammering and blood still rushing loudly in his head. 

The hotel is in a narrow, well-hidden backstreet of one of the shopping streets in the center, an old but slightly run-down building, golden letters displaying the name broadly. The taxi driver doesn’t bat an eyelid about his destination if he’s recognized him behind the sunglasses and under the hoodie and Sergio willingly pays a good tip before he walks inside, keeping the sunglasses right where they are and blushing and almost stuttering when he asks about the room number at the reception.

”Mister Garcia?”

Sergio blinks for an instant until realization washes over him and he nods, still feeling nervous and relieved to see that the man at the reception is as professional as his taxi driver and doesn’t bat an eyelid over his behavior at all.

”Mister Sanz is expecting you. The room is on the first floor, just down to the right from the elevator.”

Sergio nods absentmindedly, legs shaky now that he knows they’re about to meet. In a shady hotel room while Fernando is supposed to be miles away. And Sergio is covered in sweat, not from the summer heat or his inappropriate hoodie, but from anxiety. And the hand that reaches for the dark Mahogany door is shaky and clammy and he stands there like a little boy on his first day of school, fidgeting with his feet, hands now in the back pockets of his jeans, gaze on the floor, until the door swings open, giving sight to Fernando, _his_ Fernando he thinks to himself, who looks at him without saying a word, eyes tired, hair a mess and shoulders looking as if there were mountains pressing down on him. When he motions for Sergio to come in wordlessly, the defender follows, shutting the door behind them and then nervously lingering next to the door. Fernando is standing a step away, their eyes locked intently, the striker chewing on his lower lip. When, after an eternal and unbearably tense silence, the words finally come out, they hit Sergio like bullets.

”I’m going to England.”

_Ay amor fue una tortura..._  
 _Perderte_


	4. Assault - El Asalto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perfect night for some Sernando ;)
> 
> Please let me know what you think! Feedback makes my days (and sometimes updates appear quicker...)
> 
> ♥

Fernando is holding his breath, feeling incapable of thinking or doing anything, simply staring at Sergio. He's seen the flash of hurt on the younger man’s face when he said it and it’s made his own heart shatter. In his head, the images from 2006 replay, again and again, and his entire body shakes from the sheer pressure of having to hold back, of having to restrain himself from jumping at Sergio, pressing him against the nearest wall, devouring him and ravishing him. They never talked about it, because obviously, it should never have happened in the first place and certainly shouldn’t be repeated tonight. Not between national team teammates. Not when he is still with Olalla. Not when, after a dream-come-true Euro quali, they just and finally restored their friendship to the old level, where hanging out feels good and not awkward, where even hugging is okay. And yet, he has invited him to a hotel, alone, at night, to tell him his best kept secret first. And it would be a blatant lie if it wasn’t somehow an attempt at getting that one moment from 2006 back. A moment, that originally felt like the worst in his life and thanks to Sergio had turned into one of the best. 

If anyone would ask him why, especially why now, where things are just about okay between them; he couldn’t even answer them. Maybe because going away scares him to the point of completely losing himself in terror, because the thought of being away from Sergio seems unbearable. Maybe because deep down, he had never wanted them to return to the way it was, because deep down, he had spent the past years hoping for a miracle. Hoping for Sergio to fall for him as badly as he has fallen for the defender, for the two of them finding some strange way to maintain a gay relationship; his fantasies going as far as coming out to the press and going house hunting, Sergio proposing to him after they’d become world champions in 2010 or 2014, them adopting a child. Basically, his thoughts had always taken him too far and he’d messed up 2006, when he gave in, when in a moment of weakness, he stopped holding back and took from Sergio what he wanted. And he’d been lucky that his fault has been fixed – only to come here tonight to repeat it. A cough from the defender wakes him from his thoughts and he stares at him, gets lost in the eyes that haunt him in his sleep, glances over the body he wishes were his. _Did you dress up for me?_

”Want to go out on the balcony?” He says, feeling helpless, brain on overload, torn between wants, fears and desires. 

It seems to be the same for Sergio, who still hasn’t spoken a word and now just nods as well. He sees the defender drop his hoodie on the way and they step into the evening sun, heat of the city still glistening. They both slide down the wall, coming to sit on the floor, shoulders touching and Fernando lights himself a cigarette, Sergio passing on the offer. His eyes follow the lines of smoke and he lets his head lean back against the concrete, letting out a sigh. His intentions must have been clear for Sergio after all. Thus, alone the fact that he showed up must mean he wants this. It must. Fernando almost jumps when the defender’s fingers brush against his, taking the cigarette from him to steal a drag and he’s mesmerized by the image, the way the other closes his eyes while his full lips close around the fag, the way he exhales with a sigh. It’s such an intimate, sensual image that he could almost get hard just from watching it. And when Sergio returns the cigarette and their fingers touch again, Fernando shivers from head to toe despite the heat, his entire skin covered in gooseflesh.

In his head, Fernando desperately keeps reminding himself of the dozens of reasons why this should be talking only. Reminds himself that, even if they won’t be La Liga opponents anymore from tomorrow onwards, they’re still teammates while on national duty. That coming out as a gay football player is bound to end in disaster, leave alone as a couple. That he doesn’t even know whether Sergio would want these couple things and that most likely, judging by his relationships with women, he won’t be thrilled. Fernando knows not just from the gossip but also from their conversations that Sergio feels much less attracted to stability and settling down, that the defender’s priorities are different from the striker’s. And while that doesn’t matter for their friendship, it would ruin anything beyond. With another sigh, he exhales another line of smoke and then the touch against his fingers is back, Sergio stealing another drag, his face looking just as gorgeous as the last time and Fernando almost pierces his lip when he bites down on it, preventing himself from making an inappropriate noise or, worse, move.

”Where?”

It’s the first word Sergio says and it comes out hoarse, almost broken, only adding to the pain in Fernando’s chest.

”Liverpool.”

His own voice is on the verge of failing and he has to swallow down a lump before he gets the word out. He stubs the rest of the cigarette, already rummaging for the next. Falling back into silence, Sergio now stealing drags simply by grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand up to his mouth, his breath sending bolts of electricity through Fernando’s nerves, they keep watching the sun set over the city that brought them together. Even if they’ve always been opponents here, it’s still the place that made them what they are today.

”When?”

Sergio breaks the silence again and Fernando hears the last spark of hope in the question, his heart clenching over the knowledge to disappoint.

”Medical tomorrow.”

He can hear Sergio’s breath hitch. No, there won’t be gradual goodbyes, no last days together, no more going out. It’s Liverpool tomorrow, a final press conference in Madrid the day after – and then it’s goodbye until national break. His stomach flips at the thought.

”So it’s all decided?”

For the first time this night, he feels Sergio look at him in the beginning twilight and turns his head, locking gazes with the younger man, surprised at the unreadable darkness he comes across. For a moment, they both stare and then, after a brief nod from the defender and catching Fernando completely off guard, Sergio’s hands are around his neck and their lips are crashing violently.

_Me duele tanto que sea así_


	5. Climax - El Clímax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ♥ So appreciated!! ♥

It doesn’t matter, Sergio thinks, because it’s over anyway. It doesn’t count, he tells himself, because it’s not even really happening. And he’s desperate enough to believe in any lie right now, craving Fernando with every cell of this body. His hands are holding the striker’s head in place while his lips part, something Fernando reciprocates willingly, their tongues soon lapping against each other, licking into the other’s mouth, saliva and taste of blood mixing, being shared. He feels Fernando’s hands dig into his shirt, holding on to it like clinging to dear life and he breathes in Fernando’s scent, tries to memorize it. Because this is the last time. It won’t happen again and he wants to be able to recall every detail for the rest of his life. They’re making obscene noises, loud enough to let the city sounds fade and to let him forget that there’s a world outside of this balcony. It’s been a while that Sergio has done this with a man. In fact, Fernando has been the last and that was two years ago. Truth to be told, he’d just never met one whom he could see to measure up with his Nando afterwards and now here he is, best hidden, darkest desires fulfilled. Never breaking away from the striker’s mouth he shuffles around, kneeling over him and straddling him. Their chests are against each other’s now, feeling hot, fabric of their shirts damp with sweat. And their crotches are close, too close, Sergio thinks briefly, noticing how his jeans are suddenly too tight. Fernando has shifted his hands to his backs and is tracing his spine now, sending countless shivers down the defender’s body and making him moan into the still ongoing, violent kiss.

*

It is okay, Fernando thinks, because it will be tonight only. This time, they will be fine, he tells himself, because they know it’s only to say goodbye. So he all too willingly accepts what Sergio is putting on offer here, gives in to the temptations and the dark desires he usually hides so well. He can feel Sergio’s hard on pressing against his own, knows that Sergio knows and he hears and feels the moans that the defender releases into his mouth while he caresses his back, feeling the smooth skin, the sheen of sweat under the cotton of the T-Shirt. Only when he feels that he cannot go without oxygen anymore, does he pull away slightly, opening his eyes to find Sergio staring right at him. It’s too dark to read the defender’s face, but Fernando thinks the bulge pressing against his own is enough of an answer to any question he might have right now. They both gasp for air like fish out of water and when he finally feels he has gained enough of his composure back, he moves his hand, cupping Sergio’s face, feeling the hint of stubble scratch against his fingertips. 

”Bed?”

It’s only one word he manages to press out, one breathless syllable, but it weighs so much, it includes so much. This is testing where the lines are and he leans forward, pressing their sweaty foreheads against each other, feeling Sergio’s breath on his skin.

”Okay.”

Sergio’s voice sounds hoarse, but his answer is all and more than Fernando wanted to hear, relief flooding his veins. Sergio takes the initiative, gets up and extends a hand for him to take, an offer Fernando gladly accepts. He’s pulled in an embrace the second he gets up and it shouldn’t feel so good to be held close in this heat, but with Sergio it does. Fernando loves feeling the defender everywhere, loves drowning in the younger player’s smell, loves feeling and hearing his breath. And he revels in the fact that he’s just as rock-hard as he is himself. Hard only because of him.

They stumble towards the bed without letting go of each other, hands roaming under shirts already and Fernando couldn’t tell if he’s more aroused by the feel of Sergio’s back under his fingers, the way the muscles flex under his touch or by the way Sergio’s nails are scraping over his spine right now. All he knows is that if it wasn’t for Sergio’s hold, his knees would collapse under him here and now.

*

Bed… the word alone is enough to make Sergio’s cock twitch and he wonders where the lines are – if there are any. They’ve resumed their messy kiss, only that they’re inside now, balcony door slammed shut behind them, room lit dimly by a small table lamp and their fingers are busy exploring, while they’re both already fidgeting with their shoes and socks. It has to mean… Sergio swallows down a lump, his body shuddering. It’s really been a long time since he’s done this with a man, but in this moment, he feels like he has been waiting all his life to do exactly this, share this, with Fernando. They’re both moaning into the kiss but then he feels Fernando pull away again, backing off completely to take a step back. His eyes snap open, feeling confused, fear hitting hard that maybe he misread some signals and this wasn’t at all what the striker wanted. He can feel his heart pound heavily, but Fernando still stares at him with eyes full of lust and desire and that calms the defender’s nerves. Then he sees Fernando take his shirt off, deliberately slowly and Sergio’s breath hitches while his eyes travel over the beautiful chest. He is mesmerized, captivated by the sight, seeing the muscles twitch and flex under the glowing skin. Biting down hard on his lips, he mirrors the striker’s moves with his own shirt. With their eyes staying locked intently, they take their shirts off and shed them, followed by belts, jeans and underwear and Sergio can see Fernando’s pupils dilate more and more over the course of their mirrored stripping. And Fernando is licking his lips once they’re both naked and it looks so hot, Sergio releases a soft moan. His eyes roam along the striker’s body which he’s seen countless times, even naked, but this is different, he thinks, blushing a bit when he sees the fully erect cock. _Only because of me._

*

Fernando sees and feels Sergio’s gaze on his body and he squirms slightly, though he can’t blame the defender. He’s done the same while they undressed, his eyes devouring the younger man, eyeing every muscle, loving the sight of obvious arousal. Once he feels he cannot take it any longer, he moves to sit on the bed, nodding at Sergio to make the defender follow along. He doesn’t have to ask twice and then he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, Sergio back on his laps, the feeling of their naked skin, naked cocks, sliding along each other sending delicious bolts of arousal through his body and making him groan into the kiss. It’s been a while, he thinks to himself, but he’s still determined, even more determined actually. Sharing this with Sergio just seems to be something he has to do, arranged by fate. When he reaches for the bedside table, for the lube and condoms he placed there earlier this day, he shudders, realizing just now how he has planned this all along. Sergio stares at him, blinking briefly, eyes fully black and he realizes that Sergio hasn’t expected him to bottom, not one bit and he finds it adorable. Reaching out with a single finger, he traces the other man’s jaw. 

”Don’t worry, I won’t break.” He whispers straight into Sergio’s ear.

The sentence must have done the trick, because Sergio is growling now, hips rolling against his and the friction makes Fernando growl in turn. 

”How?” 

He sees the hint of a blush creep over Sergio’s face and finds it adorable again, but then Fernando just slides down on the bed, his back in the mattress, his arms holding the defender on top of him, their eyes still locked in a firm gaze. And without batting an eyelid, he reaches for Sergio’s hand and starts spreading lube over his fingers, then guides him down and while his own legs wrap around the defender’s waist, he breathes through the sting of the intrusion. His eyes flutter shut involuntarily, but then, he’d rather not look at Sergio right now, needing to focus on relaxing around the finger that breaches him. It used to be easier, but then it’s really been a while, he reminds himself. Sergio takes his time and Fernando is glad that his friend has that much self-control, spreading him ever so slowly, with lots of time to adjust. Only once Sergio’s third finger is buried and Fernando has relaxed enough to breathe evenly again, does the defender curl his fingers ever so slightly and there it is, that one spot that never fails to make him wail, tonight no different. His nails dig deeply into the skin of Sergio’s shoulders and Sergio, as if trying to make sure, repeats the move a few times, bringing stars and fireworks to Fernando’s vision. But then the fingers leave him and he feels too much on display, releases a displeased whine.

”Shh, just a second.” He feels Sergio’s hand run through his hair, making him shiver more than the blow from the air condition and he hears the tell-tale sounds of a condom wrapper being torn open.

*

He is buried inside Fernando Torres. The though briefly flashes up in Sergio’s head and it almost makes him come there and then, but he bites his lips, once again, holding himself up on trembling arms and breathes through it, eyes shut for a bit, until he feels he can keep going. Beneath him, the most beautiful man he can think of is writhing, his fingers digging into his scalp, legs tightly around Sergio’s waist, holding him close, urging him closer. Fernando’s eyes are shut and his face is flushed, skin glistening with sweat, lips kiss-swollen and still coated in saliva. It’s a debauched look and he loves it, growls at it, hearing one of those beautiful, soft moans Fernando keeps eliciting in response. When he is sure that the striker is okay with it, not having missed the curt nod and the push of the other’s hips, Sergio starts moving in slow, tentative thrusts, fidgeting with the angle to reach that one spot again. Fernando feels so hot, so tight around him that he sometimes has to stop to take a breath, trying to stop himself from coming too early, losing a part of this amazing experience. A loud wail followed by a few expletives that would normally make both of them blush, tell him that he’s accomplished his mission and found Fernando’s prostate again and from here, it’s a short way home, he thinks, because he feels he really cannot hold back much longer.

Sergio leans his head against Fernando’s, their lips touching but not really kissing, drinking in the scent of Fernando, mix of smoke and shampoo and perfume. With one hand, he’s reached between them and is now stroking the striker, matching the rhythm of his quick, hard thrusts, each one aiming for that one spot, Fernando long transformed into a needy puddle, squirming, cursing and growling under him and always jerking his hips up greedily, meeting each of Sergio’s thrusts. It’s too much to process for his head, he’s stopped coherent thinking a long time ago, somewhere between leaving for this hotel room and kissing Fernando on the balcony, his brain stopped functioning. But it feels so good, so much like the one thing he’s been searching for, completeness and Fernando is gorgeous like this, unravelling and incoherent. A loud wail announces it briefly, then he already feels the hot liquid run over his hand and the striker’s muscles clench around him even tighter, the nails dig in even sharper. With a desperate growl, he smashes their lips together again and follows him over the edge, vision fading and mind near unconsciousness. They kiss through their orgasms and only when the tidal wave slowly washes off, the afterglow wearing out, Sergio notices the tears in his own eyes, the realization that he will never experience this again making his stomach tie up in a knot. With the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room, overpowering even the noise of the air condition, he frowns, over himself, who managed to get into this situation and Fernando, who is leaving him and the world, because it’s not ready for what he wants most in his life.

*

It’s been the most intense climax of his life, Fernando thinks when the pleasure slowly fades, additional discomfort once Sergio pulls out and he shudders when Sergio gets up to toss the condom, the cold air suddenly hitting him hard.

”Come back,” he whines, aware of how pathetic he sounds.

”Just a second.”

He hears Sergio in the bathroom, hears the water run briefly and he keeps his eyes closed, trying to shut the world out, not quite ready to think about his mistake.

”Hey, let me clean you!”

His eyes open to the gorgeous sight of a still very much naked Sergio Ramos on the edge of his mattress, running a warm, wet wash cloth over him to clean him, touch making him wince and squirm, because it’s uncomfortable.

”Sorry,” Sergio presses a kiss to his forehead, “but that was needed.”

Fernando nods, suddenly feeling exhausted and drained and then the lights go out and he feels the mattress shift, feels Sergio wrap his body around him along with the sheets and it feels like he’s coming home into the arms where he belongs.

”I love you,” the defender whispers into the skin of his neck and Fernando cannot even describe how happy it makes him.

”I love you, too.”

With his arms around Sergio, he drifts away, deliciously exhausted and feeling as safe and harbored as never before.

…

When Fernando wakes up the next morning, Sergio is gone, his side of the bed cold and deserted.


	6. Focus - El Foco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, posting from phone, I hope the format turns out okay.  
> Thank you so much!! ♥ hearts; ♥
> 
> As always, please let me know what you think!
> 
> And I forgot to timestamp the last chapters (sorry!) but I hope 2007 was clear? Anyway, fixed that and we're now jumping to 2008 (or the year of gorgeousness as I like to call it... *sighs dreamily*)

**July 2007 to May/June 2008, Liverpool, Madrid, Las Rozas/Neustift**

They do what they do best and pretend that nothing ever happened. Yes, it’s shattered Fernando’s heart. Yes, part of him will always think Sergio should have stayed and said goodbye, but in the end he knows very well that it wouldn’t have a changed a thing. It would only have added a teary, pathetic final kiss to their list of bittersweet memories and maybe Sergio has done both of them a favor by sparing them that bit. He shrugs it off and throws himself into Liverpool with all the more focus and dedication, thus at least having a his career prosper. He maintains his relationship with Olalla, who is sweet and pretty and caring and more than he deserves. She is trying to steer them towards more committed waters and he is hesitant, but not completely opposed. Because it’s not like he could have Sergio in the first place. Sometimes, he catches himself watching one of Real’s matches, eyes on the defender, his guts twisted with sadness but at the same time, relieved to know Sergio is doing well. When they meet for National duty, they act nonchalantly around each other and it’s that pretense that hurts him most, breaks his heart every time. So far, he can be glad that Iker is the only one who seems to have noticed something off – and Iker is too loyal to even say a word about it. He only looks at him, concerned, questioning, but he never pushes and Fernando tries ever so much harder to hide the wistful looks he keeps throwing at Sergio.

*

He is happy for Fernando, very happy. The transfer to England has certainly been the right step. But Sergio isn’t happy for himself, because the striker has left an empty spot in his life that he cannot fill, regardless how many drunk nights out he spends with his teammates, regardless how many meaningless encounters he adds to his list of conquests. Sex is not what it used to be because nothing measures up to the glory of having Fernando squirming and begging beneath him and Sergio feels tired, always so tired. He knows that Iker is suspicious of his mood and sometimes, when he’s been staring at Fernando for too long, his eyes too rueful, too wistful during National matches, Iker shoots him a questioning look, but the goalkeeper doesn’t ask and Sergio really doesn’t want to talk about it. Everything, from throwing himself at the striker to sneaking out before dawn, is far from his finest moments and he’d be happy to forget if it hadn’t been the best night of his life. And he meant it when he said he loved Fernando. Whether or not Fernando meant as well he doesn’t know and it wouldn’t matter. They’re not meant to be, he knows. He knows that they’re expected to have a pretty girlfriend and he acknowledges that Fernando made a good catch. Still, when he’s not noticed by anyone, he cannot help shooting angry glares at Olalla, who is the last person he could blame and who still bothers him beyond words.

*

The training camp in Las Rozas is okay. It genuinely is. Avoiding each other is an acceptable solution and he needs his focus for other things anyway, put all his strength into the sport and even though his heart sometimes still aches when he sees Sergio – and maybe his cock occasionally twitches when he sees him, especially half-naked in the locker room with dripping hair – Fernando has enough other things to occupy his mind and after their truly amazing final quali games he really thinks this might be their year. They’ve reached the point where they could actually get to somewhere bigger, could reach a higher level and possibly he could get his hands on that trophy. And as football is his number one passion, the thing he’s given up a lot for, the one dedication that really rules his life, he is willing to do anything and everything to be at his best possible personal level, because when they win that cup, he wants to play and not watch. Only at night, when Xabi, his roommate has gone to sleep, does he sometimes lie awake for a moment, memories of that one hot summer night last year flashing back up and mixing with current images of Sergio, head briefly spinning from the mix of regret, arousal and despair. If Xabi ever notices anything, at least he keeps his mouth shut. By the time he’s packing for Austria, he is more or less convinced that he can keep his emotions in check, at least during the tournament.

*

“We decided to mix up the rooms a little.” The words echo in Sergio’s head and he throws Iker, his roommate, or maybe now former roommate a helpless glance but the keeper just shrugs, unreadable expression on his face.

Sergio swallows and walks over to Pepe, who got the list from Aragonés and In his head, he repeats the words that it won’t be Fernando over and over like a mantra. Because the odds are slim, so why would it be Fernando of all people? Still, his mouth has gone dry and his hands shake, the noises from the teammates who already found out whom they’ll live with and who are now talking and cheering loudly are muted in his head, while he reaches for the piece of paper. 

He hands it back wordlessly, earning a surprised look from Pepe, because the others reacted more enthusiastically and most certainly, he’s been expected to react differently to be reunited with his supposedly best mate. Only… Sergio’s mind is completely blank right now and his heart has dropped to his stomach while he stares at Fernando, who understands without a word and stares back just as shell-shocked as the defender feels.

”Get it sorted,” Iker’s voice whispers next to him, the goalkeeper’s hand briefly swatting on his shoulder and Sergio stumbles forward, towards Fernando, whose face has lost all its color. _Out of all the possibilities._


	7. Victory - La Victoria

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, took a day longer than usual!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments and every other bit of feedback so far, it's much, much appreciated ♥  
> And as always, PLEASE let me know what you think, it makes me very, very happy!

It’s awkward. And that’s an understatement, Fernando thinks, while he is packing away his stuff, hearing Sergio in the bathroom. Maybe he should just crawl under the cover and pretend that he’s asleep. Only they haven’t even been to dinner yet. With a sigh, he flops down on a mattress, face covered with an elbow, when he hears Sergio get back into the room.

”Hey. Um. Sorry, is it okay if I take this bed?” He stays where he is, eyes still covered, feeling his face heat up involuntarily.

”Hm? Oh. Sure.” Sergio’s voice is just as insecure as Fernando feels and he hates himself a little more every second, because after all, It’s been his fault, he initiated 2006 and he called Sergio 2007 and now he’s to blame for rooming 2008 being unbearable.

He’s still not looking but the sounds indicate that Sergio has followed his example and thrown himself on the other mattress. And then it’s silent. Not the kind of comfortable stillness, where you feel you understand each other and just relax. No, the tense kind, the kind of silence where you feel that everything is going to blow up any second, the kind, that makes you want to hold your breath and where the clock ticking on the wall sounds like the countdown in a bad action movie. An absolutely insupportable kind of silence and it’s weighing heavy on Fernando’s heart, his thoughts spinning from the attempt to come up with something, anything to say and make this somehow better.

”Fer?” He almost jumps because Sergio’s voice comes so sudden, out of nowhere.

”Mhm?”

”Promise me it won’t be this awkward for the rest of the tournament.”

If the shattering of a heart would make sounds, it would be pretty loud in the room right now, Fernando thinks sarcastically and rolls to his side, propping his face up on his elbow and he watches Sergio, properly, for the first time in months. His friend, or former friend, his biggest downfall and greatest dream, is spread flat on his back, hands under his head, staring straight at the ceiling, long strands of dark hair flowing over the white pillowcase. Fernando’s gaze travels over the toned body, hypnotized by the way the perfect chest is heaving, regularly, muscles and ribs showing against the tight white fabric of Sergio’s shirt. Fernando feels sorry, for himself, because he cannot have that beautiful man, for both of them, because he’s made things impossible between them when they used to be doing great as mates (though even back then, Fernando’s heart would sometimes ache with the inexplicable desire to press the defender into the nearest wall and devour him) and he feels sorry for Sergio, because the younger man looks and sounds lost and hurt. And that’s never been his intention.

”Sese-“, he stops cold, the nickname having escaped more by accident and his voice coming out weaker than expected. “Sergio, it’s doesn’t have to be awkward, right?”

He sees Sergio sit up in slow motion, nodding to himself and then he’s looking at him, straight into his eyes, wordlessly telling him just how hurt and resigned he feels. It’s breaking Fernando’s heart all over again to see him like this, making the striker want to yell how sorry he is, to throw himself at Sergio’s feet and beg to make it alright. Then, after a long and too intense moment, he sees Sergio open his mouth and hesitate and Fernando’s breath hitches and his blood freezes while he waits for the other to speak.

”Nando-“ Hearing his nickname almost makes him crumble and he blinks against tears now, hands clawing at the hem of his shirt.

Sergio hesitates again, hesitates too long, until he finally coughs and continues.

”Let’s just go to dinner, I think the others have already gone downstairs.”

*

For a few days, they almost seem to do okay. After their failed attempt to talk about things, they go back to pretending and as has happened before, Fernando feels that the more he pretends, the more the pretense becomes the truth. Yes, he’s still lying awake for hours at night, listening for Sergio’s breath. Yes, he’s still having fantasies when Sergio is in the shower. But it’s slowly fading into something bearable, because he knows and he accepts and he tolerates. Probably, Sergio feels the same, because the air between them becomes less heavy, the gazes are less nervous, the conversations go back to almost normal chatter, discussing matches, strategy, girls and Olalla and their teammates. Sometimes, all the disturbing memories are pushed so far aside, that for almost an entire evening, it feels the way it used to be, back before he’d messed things up. And Fernando likes that, a lot. Because when they can’t be lovers, which is an obvious impossibility, he will gladly accept being best friends as it seems to be the most of Sergio he can have – and every crumb of Sergio is better than no Sergio in his life. Baby steps to normality, he ponders, seems to be a valid strategy.

Then, they play against Sweden and suddenly, everything feels different. Because that was one long, hard match, one where for the longest time it looked like they might not make it and where Villa, past the ninetieth minute, saved them and made them winners of their group. The straight win against Russia had been nice and they’d cheered and celebrated quietly afterwards – tonight, they’re taking first the bus and then the hotel down, because they feel invincible. Fernando finds himself too close to Sergio during the celebrations, his head dizzy from alcohol, his legs weak and his voice already slurring. And his body leaning against the frame of the most beautiful defender in the world, Fernando’s skin burning from the lightest touch, his nose flooded with the scent of Sergio’s aftershave and alcohol and when he catches himself at the last second before pressing a kiss against Sergio’s ear, he knows he has to get away.

So, he takes a deep breath, excuses himself from the tables he’s sharing with Sergio and some of the other guys, saying he needs some fresh air. Behind himself, he hears Xavi chuckle that smoking doesn’t qualify for fresh air and Iker is making a joke about him being no fun because Olalla has him on a leash. He doesn’t really take in what they say though, only hurries to get outside, skin of his forearm set on fire where it touched Sergio’s, legs almost giving in, stomach flipping and a bulge beginning to form in his pants that nobody can see. He stumbles out in the hotel’s beautiful patio, back sliding down the wall and collapsing onto the tiles, his heart racing and his fingers clumsily rummaging for a cigarette. Fidgeting with the lighter, he closes his eyes and takes some deep breaths, trying to calm his pulse, sucking in the fresh evening air, smelling faintly like the flowers blooming in numerous pots. The noises from the party inside are muffled and he slowly finds himself again a little, eyes now open, staring into the dark sky.

He should be so happy, beyond happy, actually. They made it, they won their group before the last match already and he scored. Everything is perfect. Or should be. He pulls out his phone, reads over the message Olalla sent earlier, congratulating him, telling him how proud she was. Such an angel, so loving and still, after he scored, he didn’t think about kissing her. He only thought about pressing Sergio down into that damp grass and ravishing him there and then. Thought about it with an intensity that scared him, more than a little bit. And thinking of the devil, the sound of the sliding glass doors make him jump, head jerking around only to meet eyes with Sergio, unable to really read the younger’s face because of the twilight. Sergio wordlessly sits down next to him, their shoulders and arms touching again. A myriad of shivers is running down Fernando’s spine and his skin is covered in goosebumps, even so the summer night is a rather mild one. In his chest, his heart is beginning to race again and he’s a bit worried that It’s beating loud enough for Sergio to hear.

”Can I have one?”

Fernando startles a second before he realizes what Sergio means and yes, of course he can. With shaky fingers, the striker holds out the fag, waiting for Sergio’s lips to close around it and he leans forward, hand almost touching Sergio’s face, lighting it for him, loving the way his face looks in the light of the flame of his lighter. They stare and stay silent, both taking their drags, blowing grey lines into the air.

”I shouldn’t have left.”

_No, you shouldn’t. But you did and it was for the better and I understand and I appreciate you trying to save both of us and it was braver and stronger than anything I did. But no, you shouldn’t. Because I love you and it hurt when you were gone._

Fernando doesn’t say any of that loud. Instead, his free hand reaches for Sergio’s, lacing their fingers and giving a gentle squeeze.

”It’s okay,” he whispers, head dropping to Sergio’s shoulder.

”Mhm. Maybe.” Sergio’s low voice vibrates through his body and he wishes he wouldn’t feel so good right now.

They finish their cigarettes in silence and when they’re stubbed, it’s not long before Fernando feels himself pulled into Sergio’s arms, his head in the crook of the defender’s neck, his body shifted on his knees and between Sergio’s legs, their chests flush so that he feels Sergio’s heartbeat. He’s running his fingers through the streaks of soft hair he can reach, his mouth now against the hot skin of Sergio’s neck and if the world was fair, it would stop turning now, for this is what perfection feels like. No goal in the world, no trophy and no victory will ever feel like this. Sergio keeps one arm around his back, hand pressing against his shoulder blades firmly, keeping him in place, but the other moves, a finger finding Fernando’s chin and pushing it up until their eyes meet. It’s dark outside, but there are a few scattered lamps in the patio and in their vague light, Fernando can just about see Sergio’s face and the expression of pure fondness that’s written all over it. It makes him smile, broadly and genuinely, returning the feeling and when he feels Sergio lean forward, he follows the example, his eyelids fluttering closed.

Their lips touch softly, tentatively, leaving a tingling feeling behind, sending waves of pleasure and bolts of nervous electricity through Fernando’s body. It’s overwhelming, the muted sound of their celebrating team somewhere in the background, the quiet noise of a little artificial stream in the patio, the smell of some flowers mixing with Sergio’s familiar aftershave and tobacco, the warm air of a summer night and the feathery touch of Sergio’s lips against his. Adjusting himself between Sergio’s thighs, his legs now straddling the striker’s he presses their crotches together, moaning softly at the contact, feeling proud about the hardness he feels pressing back against his own. His hands find hold in Sergio’s hair and the defender is the one who deepens the kiss, lips opening for Fernando’s tongue willingly, hands finding a way under the striker’s shirt. Fernando doesn’t know what to focus on, the beginning of a passionate kiss, with tongues battling for the upper hand and teeth pulling on lips, coppery taste of blood mixing with the taste of too much alcohol and tobacco, or the touch of Sergio’s fingertips, tracing patterns on his back, nails scraping lines over his spine, his skin on fire everywhere the defender touches him. They are both moaning into the kiss soon, hips rolling against each other and it’s escalating too quickly, long become unstoppable and when he realizes they’ve fallen too deep anyway, Fernando pulls his head back, gasping for air.

”Bedroom.” He doesn’t ask, he makes a declaration and when he gets up, his head spinning and his legs like pudding, Sergio follows his lead without questioning.

_We can just do it once more, only once, because it can’t hurt more than the last time anyway, right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I do have a tumblr, too (http://stripedsquirrel.tumblr.com/), a random mix of motorsports, football and bits and pieces of everything ♥)


	8. Passion - La Pasión

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No plot tonight, sorry (or maybe not ;) ) about that ♥  
> Thank you for the feedback, it means so much!! ♥

He follows Fernando upstairs, glad that they don’t run into anyone on the way. First, because one look at his crotch would give away everything and then also because this is making him so confused, dizzy and overwhelmed that he thinks he wouldn’t be able to speak. All he manages is relying on his instincts, blindly stumbling behind Fernando, feeling full of need and desire, but also simply scared about the consequences, terrified by the knowledge that at one point, it is going to hurt. Again. When they’re in front of their room, it takes Fernando more than one attempt to get the keycard right, his hands trembling and Sergio’s stomach twists at the sight, taking the striker’s nervousness as a proof that this means something to him as well.

Sergio steps inside and leans with his back against the door to close it. Fernando is in front of him, turned around to face him and for a moment, that’s all they do, stand or lean there, staring at each other. Biting his lower lip, chewing it absentmindedly, he tries to read Fernando’s expression, finding the striker’s eyes looking at him greedily - which was to be expected - but also with a spark of something else, some hidden sadness, as if he knows, just like Sergio, that it’s not going to end well. In Sergio, the sight causes a turmoil of emotions, running havoc in his veins, want, regret and the urge to make Fernando better battling for the upper hand.

When he feels he cannot bear it any longer, he practically throws himself at the older man, holding him tight, too tight, his nose buried in his neck and breathing in his scent. He can feel Fernando’s heartbeat, because their chests are touching firmly and Fernando responds, his arms tight around Sergio’s waist, hands clawing to the defender’s shirt. They’re both trembling, both breathing erratically and Sergio wants everything, he wants to hold Fernando, kiss him, fuck him senseless, wake up next to him, hold his hand when they go for a walk, cook for him, live with him, have all of him for himself. 

”I love you, Nando,” the words escape from his lips before he can think them through, whispered into the strikers blond hair.

”God, I love you, too, Sese. I missed you so much.”

Sergio’s heart jumps at the words and suddenly, he feels reassured, for the first time he feels as if maybe, just maybe this could work. _Because when we both love each other, it should, right?_ Slowly, he starts moving both of them towards the bed, never releasing his hold and when his legs hit the frame, he pulls his head back, locking eyes with Fernando and waiting for the silent nod that confirms that yes, this is okay, that this is what they both want.

His fingers tremble when he reaches for Fernando’s shirt, taking it off carefully, feeling the other shiver. His eyes glance over the smooth skin, glowing in the warm light of the hotel room. Sergio allows his fingers to discover, rediscover, the body in front of him, fingertips hovering over the muscles of Fernando’s chest, watching them twitch, hearing the sharp inhale from the striker. When he moves to trace his spine, Fernando’s hands reach out and clutch to his shoulders. The way the striker melts under his touch makes him smile fondly, feeling pride run through him. He swallows briefly, before he leans forward, kissing him, teasingly, always pulling back quickly and only allowing their tongues and lips to touch briefly. Small sounds of displeasure come from Fernando’s mouth, making Sergio chuckle, but this time, the defender has other plans.

He licks, kisses and nibbles his way down on Fernando’s body, beginning with his jaw and then sucking little bruises on the other’s neck and collarbone on his way. When his tongue circles a nipple, he hears the first desperate moan above his head and the grip on his shoulders is now so painful that he assumes there’s blood being drawn. It makes Sergio’s cock twitch even more, his jeans having become a painful restriction some time ago and he hums approvingly. It’s a wonderful feeling, the power he has over the beautiful striker and he’s amazed about the reactions he can get out of the older man. Affection, excitement and desire are boiling inside him and he has to hold himself back firmly, because he’s determined to savor this night more than anything.

He hears a hiss and a curse when he slides to his knees, his tongue dipping into Fernando’s navel, his fingers beginning to unbutton the jeans. He’s given head before, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been so eager, so greedy, so full of anticipation before. His fingers are actually shaking when he shoves Fernando’s clothes down, the hard cock now directly in front of his face and he holds his breath. For a moment, he’s completely mesmerized, finding the sight beautiful, the thick length, silky skin, strong veins, a single drop of precome at the tip that makes him lick his lips.

”Sese-“ Fernando’s voice is so hoarse, so desperate and Sergio groans while he helps the striker step out of the clothes pooling around his ankles, getting rid of socks and shoes, too.

He raises himself to his feet again, shedding all of his own clothes except his boxers in record time. Then, after another deep breath to calm his nerves, his hands find Fernando’s shoulders and push him down on the mattress ever so slowly, their eyes meeting again, mix of affection and sheer desire reflected back from the older man’s look. Beginning with Fernando’s lips, his mouth takes the same way down the other’s body again, Fernando’s hands now clutched in his hair and the striker’s body squirming beneath him beautifully. Sergio savors the taste, the mix of salt and soap that’s so uniquely Fernando. By the time he’s reached his navel again, Fernando’s torso is glistening with sweat and his back is arching, cock begging for attention. He’s also tugging on Sergio’s hair painfully strong and releasing strings of swears, but Sergio couldn’t be more aroused by it. For a moment, he just looks at Fernando’s cock, taking in the sight once more, finding it now practically dripping with precome. They suck in a sharp breath in unison and it would make him chuckle if Sergio wasn’t so lost in this very moment, the taste and feeling of Fernando’s dick, heavy on his tongue.

The striker growls and bucks his hips as soon as Sergio moves his tongue and, fearing he’ll choke, his fingers dig into Fernando’s hips, maybe too hard, possibly leaving bruises, holding the older down relentlessly while he bops his head up and down, turning Fernando into a gorgeous, writhing, panting, moaning mess. It’s absolutely breathtaking to see him unravel like that, by far the most amazing thing Sergio has ever experienced with anyone, everything feeling more intimate, more delicate. And he works him slowly, teasingly, reveling in every little, desperate noise the striker makes, not minding at all that it feels like the other is tearing all his hair out. This is perfection, it must be, the little part of his brain that’s still functioning screams and Sergio vaguely realizes he’s never felt this close to anyone – which is why, when he hears the breathless “close”, spilling from Fernando’s mouth between more expletives, for the first time in his life he doesn’t pull away frantically. If anything and physically possible, he takes Fernando even deeper, desperate for the closeness, for the act itself, for the moment that will make them even more connected.

Fernando comes down his throat with a call of his name and though it’s not his own orgasm, Sergio thinks it’s not much different, because adrenaline, joy, satisfaction are washing over him just as much and he just wants to stay there, to the last moment, but Fernando’s hands reach for him and pull him up, stronger than he would have thought possible. The striker pulls him into a kiss, with his lips parted and his tongue licking into the defender’s mouth. Sergio realizes what he’s doing, that he’s tasting himself there actually, on his tongue and lips and it almost pushes him over the edge, his throbbing, aching cock pressing against Fernando’s stomach and craving friction.

He is about to slide his own hand into his boxers, needing the release, but Fernando’s hand is quicker, shoving his away and then helping him wriggle out of his boxers. With their lips locked in a passionate kiss, his moans are muffled and he knows he won’t last long like this, Fernando’s fingers tight around his cock, sliding up and down quickly, the other apparently well aware of Sergio’s urgency. For a few brief moments, Sergio manages to focus, to take in everything around him, the feeling of their sticky skin against each other’s, the taste of Fernando and blood mixing in their mouths, the obscene noises from their kiss filling the air, the feeling that Fernando and his hot, smooth skin are everywhere around him, the sight of Fernando’s eyes right in front of his, sparkling with desire. Then, his vision goes white and his mind zooms out, hot liquid splattering between them.

For a long or short moment – he couldn’t tell, because he’s not really there but rather floating on some cloud made of pleasure – Sergio’s senses return and he realizes that he’s crushing the older man. He rolls off with a small sigh, not quite ready to let go and he’s grateful when Fernando’s arm wraps around him and holds him close, presses him against the striker’s side.

”Stay.” He feels the striker press a kiss against his temple and a wave of regret washes over him, making his stomach twist. 

_I should have stayed then. I was such a coward. Maybe I still am._ Sergio blindly reaches for the switch, turning off the light, not missing the happy little sound the striker makes in response and with his lips curling in a broad smile, he pulls the sheet over both of them, more than ready to ignore the sticky mess that will still be there to take care of in the morning. With his own arm possessively over the older player’s chest, he buries his face in the crook of his neck and lets the happiness and comfort of the moment sink in for a bit.

”I really love you, Nando,” he whispers into the other’s ear, some streaks of blond hair tingling his nose.

He only gets a half-asleep mumbling in return and sighs contently, snuggling closer against the man next to him. _I’m sure you do, too. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but it seems you do._ For once, he drifts away with a smile on his face, peaceful and dreamless sleep awaiting him.


	9. Happiness - La Alegría

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the plot promised it will return for the next chapter. ♥
> 
> As always, let me know what you think and I will love you forever ;) ♥

Fernando wakes up when the morning sun enters the window with full force, curtains left open in the hurry of the past night. It takes him a second or two and a bit of blinking before he understands. Before the weight on his chest and tickling against his chin and cheek are processes into the realization that he’s holding an armful of Sergio Ramos. Sleeping Sergio Ramos. Instantly, he starts beaming and it must be the best feeling in the world, he thinks, while his head drops back in the pillow with a happy little sigh. He has nothing to do, nowhere to be, because they are off after their win, and he is holding the most beautiful man in the world in his arm, dark streaks of hair tingling Fernando’s face and Sergio’s scent enveloping him. Perfection has been reached, if only for a moment.

The moment Sergio begins to stir above him, he freezes on the spot, holding his breath and squeezing his eyes shut. He fears the defender will jump any second, disgusted by what happened between them, running away from him. Again. Instead, he feels Sergio prop himself up, hands dipping into the mattress on both sides of Fernando’s head, long hair in the striker’s face. So he dares to blink his eyes open, only to hold his breath again because he’s overwhelmed with Sergio’s face so close to his, their foreheads almost touching, Sergio’s eyes beaming and his mouth smiling, not broadly, not overly brightly. Just a small, peaceful, content smile. One that looks the way Fernando feels, happy and somehow shy, a bit intimidated by the gravity of the moment.

”Hey, you’re here.”

Fernando smiles back up, wincing internally because of his lame attempt at conversation and he cannot resist reaching out, tracing a line along Sergio’s jaw and running his fingers through the defender’s hair. Maybe a part of him still refuses to believe that he’s actually there and needs the confirmation that indeed, the man on top of him is real.

”I’m here. We’re here.”

Sergio voice is hoarse and he leans down to press a chaste kiss on Fernando’s lips, leaving behind a tingling feeling and a shiver that runs through the striker’s body from head to toe.

”Are we-“ And the striker trails of, because really, he doesn’t know how to ask. Exclusive? Dating? Together? Seeing each other? None of that is truly a thing they could be. Not even if they both wanted it. And in Sergio’s case, he is pretty sure the defender doesn’t want any of it. In his own case, there’s Olalla and his cheeks burn at the thought. Above him, Sergio seems to be studying his face intently, dark eyes questioning and sparkling and the early morning sun making his skin glow even more than usually.

”In love?” Sergio smiles at him and Fernando’s eyes widen. “Yes, we are.”

With that, the defender leans down again, his lips on Fernando’s, this time parting, inviting him in. He takes the invitation more than willingly, licking into the heat of Sergio’s mouth, his hands holding on to the hair in Sergio’s neck. It’s strange how he only now notices that beneath the sheets, they’re both naked and very much skin on skin and both very much rock hard from nothing. Sure, could be a morning issue, but that’s not it, he thinks, happily drowning in Sergio’s touch, the defender’s hands now in his hair. 

Soft moans spill into the kiss, a kiss that is gentle and sweet, without any urgency, just like they are both rolling their hips against each other’s calmly and without the pressing desire of their previous encounters, for the moment both seemingly content with just feeling the other. It should always be like this, every day. It’s how he should wake up and how he should fall asleep. And if he cannot have it every day, because the world is not ready for them and they’re too young to give up their careers, then Fernando is determined to have it as often as possible. He is ready to fight to convince Sergio to try this and he knows how much he is asking from Sergio, because after all, Fernando is the one with the long-term girlfriend. But he cannot give this up, even if it’s the purest selfishness seeping out of him.

For now, what he can do in return is to give himself to Sergio and he wants that, needs that. Before he leaves the room, before he even leaves the bed, before there’s any chance that Sergio changes his mind about them, he has to be owned by the defender. Closing his legs around the younger man’s waist, he urges him closer, encourages him wordlessly. And he doesn’t have to do more than that. Sergio doesn’t even break their kiss, only reaches for the nightstand, grabbing some lotion. Fernando listens to the cap popping open and keeps reveling in Sergio’s taste, his hands still in the defender’s hair and then a single finger presses into him and he moans, head falling back into the pillow, away from Sergio.

”You okay?”

Fernando opens his eyes, seeing Sergio’s concerned look, the furrowed brows. He hurries to nod.

”More than okay,” he breathes out, “So perfect, Sese.”

Sergio’s pupils dilate at his words and the finger moves, carefully. He finds the right spot quickly and Fernando doesn’t even try to hold back the needy whine that comes from his throat. Sergio opens him, bit by bit, agonizingly slowly and apparently determined to turn him into a begging mess. Fernando soon doesn’t care about anything, just squirming helplessly, gasping for air, begging Sergio to fuck him already whenever he has enough air and sense to speak or at least mutter something. 

”Are you tested?”

Sergio’s hand withdraws and Fernando whines wantonly, desperately. His eyes spring open and he stares at Sergio’s face above his head, flushed, disheveled, eyes burning with need.

”Yes, yes, I am. Please, fuck me.”

With the defender, he is certainly not above begging and he emphasizes his words by pressing the younger man closer, legs tight around the other’s waist. A smile crosses Sergio’s face before he leans down, sucking a bruise to Fernando’s neck that makes him wince. And at the same time, he buries himself to the hilt in a single thrust, making the striker suck in a sharp breath. It takes a moment for the burning pain to face and Sergio gives him the moment, patiently waiting until his fingers stop digging into the defender’s shoulders and he nods, bucking his hips up tentatively. It gets him the response he was hoping for, Sergio thrusting into him deep and slow. 

In Fernando’s head, there’s only Sergio. Sergio’s smile, Sergio’s voice, Sergio’s smell, Sergio’s touch. Nothing else matters anymore, nothing else he wants. And this, he knows for sure, is not sex. This is not some way of dealing with pressure. It’s not about satisfaction. This is making love in the purest form possible, creating moments he will never forget. Everything around them fades, the dull and boring hotel room, the bright rays of sunshine, the sound of birds outside. Their world only consists of the two of them and a bed with crumpled sheets, in a room that’s filled with the noises of their moans, their panting and the mumbled endearments they exchange. Until Fernando screams Sergio’s name, coming between their stomachs and from Sergio inside him only. It’s an orgasm that washes over him like only a few others have before, taking all the air from his lungs and any thoughts from his brain. He can vaguely feel Sergio come inside him, hears a growl of his own name from the distance before he collapses, Sergio flat on top of him.

After an eternity, or at least a moment that felt like one, Sergio moves away from him only to pull him up from the bed, dragging him into the shower. Fernando still feels so weak, doesn’t trust his legs, so he leans with his back against the tiles, eyes closed and hands once again searching for hold in Sergio’s hair. The defender doesn’t object, only kisses his temple briefly and then washes both of them, dries both of them, even hands Fernando his clothes. 

”We’re trying this, right?” Fernando closes his jeans, questioning gaze lifted to meet Sergio’s eyes, heart throbbing painfully in his chest.

”Yes, yes-”, Sergio smiles, slides into his shirt and kisses him chastely before taking his hand and lacing their fingers, “of course we are. Not just trying, we’ll make it work. I promise, Nando.”

_No puedo pedirle lo eterno a un simple mortal_


	10. Awakening - El Despertar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much! You have no idea how much your feedback means to me ♥

They steal moments, moments to kiss, to lace their fingers, knees meeting under tables, lingering touches that last too long to be accidental exchanged on the pitch. Sergio knows they’re stealing them, he is well aware that their happiness comes with an expiry date. But with Fernando, he is happy and content to an extent that makes him forget the approaching end. He hasn’t spent a single night alone in his bed after their last encounter. Not that they would fuck or make love or whatever that is with Fernando every night, after all, they’re still playing the tournament of their lives. But they fall asleep in a tangle of limbs, bodies heating up under shared sheets and they wake up in the same knot, sweaty, ruffled and with a smile. They share their showers, Fernando often on his knees, beautiful mouth stretched around Sergio’s cock, dark eyes staring up at him through long lashes. Sergio loves kissing him good night and good morning, loves the little moans he makes when he’s still half-asleep and Sergio’s fingers close around his dick, jerking him off slowly and languidly.

Only when he calls Olalla at night, not in front of him, but going out on their small balcony, cigarette in one hand, phone in the others, that’s when Sergio’s heart clenches, his stomach twists and his hands get cold, because it’s the inevitable reminder that there will be a life after the tournament. Times where they will be separated by miles and lifestyle, where private meetings will be close to impossible to arrange without raising suspicion. And they don’t talk about it. He’d never dare to ask. And no, he’d never have the courage to ask Fernando to leave Olalla. Or England. Or both. Because football is their passion and their careers are all they’ve ever worked for, sacrificed so much for and he’d never ask Fernando to put that at risk. Instead, he vows to make the most of their time together, enjoying however little they have left.

*

Their time in Austria and Switzerland is the time of his life, Fernando knows that, senses it every day, every hour, every minute, every second. And getting to share it with Sergio, _his_ Sergio, that’s like a dream coming true. Even if the dread is always there, somewhere, nagging in the back of his head. Their days are counted and when he walks on the pitch for the final, he is not only nervous about the game, he is also more than a little scared about the night to come, because for the first time in a few weeks – that feel like years – he will have to fall asleep without Sergio wrapped around him. Without the familiar aftershave in his nose. Without the soft snoring that the defender denies so determinedly. It’s a lingering sadness that won’t fade, not even with the anticipation of the match, not with the sheer joy after winning, not during the official celebrations.

It’s late and dark and pretty cold when he knows that they will have to leave the stadium soon, that Olalla will be there when they get out and that’s when he steals a last, solemn moment, on a lonely corner of the pitch, standing across from Sergio with their hands laced between them and their foreheads against each other’s. 

”I love you, Sese,” he whispers and feels his heart shatter.

”And I love you, Nando,” comes the soft reply, a fleeting kiss against his temple, a gentle hand running through his hair.

Fernando will never forget that moment, will never forget the way Sergio’s eyes shine, filled with tears but his lips still smiling. He will never forget, never lose the loneliness that creeps into his veins while he is standing there, swallowing against the lump in his throat and blinking against the tears.

*

Sergio returns to Madrid, returns to a mix of training, vacation and meaningless encounters, everything back to where it was – except from the constant yearning. Oh, he liked Fernando before, maybe loved the striker before, but he never knew how good it felt to have Fernando. Now however, he knows painfully well and the desire to have him back, to have him for himself is overwhelming. That’s when the calls start. Not the usual, occasional exchanged texts from before but the hour-long calls, the ones he’d wait all day for. Anticipation builds up reliably towards ten pm, knowing Nando is about to be home, alone on the balcony, with a cigarette – God, Sergio can see him in every detail - telling Olalla whatever thing about who was calling why and then they’d talk, sometimes for one, sometimes even two hours. And he’s bought himself cigarettes, has started to go out on his balcony, only to feel closer to Fernando, more connected. 

Whenever their paths cross, as rare as it is, they will be drawn together like two powerful magnets, inevitably ending up in cupboards, empty locker rooms or hotel rooms, Sergio backing up the gorgeous striker against the nearest wall within split seconds, devouring and ravishing him, mesmerized by the blushed face that he has mapped in detail now, studied every freckle. He lets himself drown in Fernando’s eyes and smell and every one of these stolen seconds is so important, so meaningful, so worth the pain. Nothing can compare to or live up to the sounds Fernando makes when he takes him, roughly, quickly, urgently. It’s beautiful, the way the older squirms and moans and trembles in Sergio’s hold and every time, the world feels perfect. Until they have to break apart, with tears on their cheeks and a sudden, languid kiss, one where gentleness replaces passion, where the desire to drag things out as long as possible replaces the previous haste and urgency. And then they’ll exchange a hoarse goodbye, voices failing and they’ll return to the previous state. Except from the calls. And it’s okay, Sergio thinks, because well, since it’s clear they cannot really be a couple, this affair they wordlessly established is the closest thing to perfection he can get and he’ll take it, enjoy it as long as it lasts.

It’s a cold December night when Sergio hears the familiar ringtone, reserved for Fernando’s number and, wrapped in his coat, steps out on the balcony, cigarette lit instantly, voice dreamy, eyes glancing over the city lights, colorful against the dark sky.

”Hey, Nando, how are you? I miss you!”

He’s speaking cheerily into the phone, beaming - until he hears the reply, the striker’s voice dripping with sadness.

”Sese, I-“

And Sergio has never felt his knees give up so quickly, sliding onto the balcony floor while listening to Fernando’s words without fully understanding, without really processing things yet.

Olalla is pregnant. And Fernando is getting married. He doesn’t know how long he stays on the balcony, in the cold, breath coming out in little white puffs. His phone rests discarded on the floor next to him, dropped without saying a word to the striker, call cancelled and settings put on silent a while ago. All he knows is that the sentence won’t stop echoing through his head. Married. He shudders. And he doesn’t care one bit how often Fernando repeats that it won’t change anything, because that’s a fucking lie. It changes everything.


	11. Guilt - La Culpa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much! Your feedback, hits, comments, kudos, it really makes all the difference ♥

No, he cannot blame Sergio, not for anything. Because it will always come down to Fernando’s mistakes, Fernando’s lack of self-control that the whole thing between them became what it is now, a thing. Back in his England home, he feels haunted by Sergio’s face, appearing in his dreams, chasing him during the days, distracting him from the important things in life. It seems he’s only living for that couple of hours at night, the nights where they’re both off and can actually talk. And now, one simple fact has taken them away from him. It’s a loss he cannot compensate, a feeling of emptiness, heaviness that’s weighing heavy on his shoulders. Nothing and no-one could replace Sergio, his voice, his encouragement, his love and Fernando feels so helpless. 

Of course, he cannot blame Sergio, as he knows well how much he would be asking from the defender by keeping up their dirty little secret. Sergio always had to share him with Olalla, but yeah, even if he told Sergio otherwise, Fernando is aware that a child and a ring will change the conditions. Will change the lines. Part of him disagrees, yelling that it wasn’t moral before and won’t be now and that means there’s no difference, so Sergio should just suck it up. And anyway, not like Sergio isn’t indulging in nightlife and meaningless one night stands. But that’s exactly the difference, Fernando thinks, Sergio has encounters with no strings attached, while he himself has a supposedly loving relationship. 

Life without Sergio though is not worth living for him. And when national duties come along and he is blatantly ignored, it hurts him more than anything. Sergio isn’t rude, if anything, he is especially polite. But the distance in his behavior is making being around him an agony for the striker. It’s at some point in June, when he slips. Olalla is not too far from giving birth and him more desperate and craving and annoyed with the entire mess than ever, partly because he’s trying to go without cigarettes, thinking it’s important for the unborn child. And suddenly, over dinner, the words just fall from his mouth.

”I love Sergio.”

He realizes what he said, head jerking up, eyes meeting Olalla’s with panic rising in his veins. But his fiancée just smiles at him, warmly and softly.

”Of course you do. He’s your best friend; anybody would miss their best friend if they lived so far apart. Maybe the two of you should start calling each other more again?”

Her sincerity, her honest affection, it’s shattering his heart, guilt crashing down on him mercilessly. Here he sits, with the most beautiful woman who is going to give birth to his child soon and he is thinking about another man – and she thinks so innocently of it all and only wants his best. _I don’t deserve either of you. I really don’t._

*

Ignoring someone you love isn’t easy. It’s even harder, when said man looks broken and devastated and all you want to do is make him better. But someone in this mess has to be responsible and Sergio thinks that this is his part, his duty. He won’t interfere when there’s a child involved, he cannot do it. No matter how many sad looks or angry glares it earns him. But it hurts him, a lot. Especially when there’s photos in magazines, with Fernando and a very pregnant Olalla, then Fernando and Olalla and a baby and finally with Fernando and Olalla and a ring. And the other, even less appropriate images, the ones no magazine will ever have because their only in his head, they won’t leave his mind, the images of Fernando writhing under him, looking gorgeous, sounding breathtaking. They haunt him, keep him awake at night and restless during the day. Needless to say, Sergio hates life without Fernando. And he’s sick of the countless men and women he’s picked up to fill the void. It’s making him tired, worn out and Iker certainly noticed, but doesn’t mention it. Only shooting him worried glances. And of course, the goalkeeper tries to get him to talk to Fernando, but this time, Sergio is quicker and for all the national duties, world cup included, he manages to make sure that he won’t room with the striker.

It’s for the better, he is sure and during the World Cup, it seems to pay off, as they’re both settling into a routine of coolly avoiding each other. No unnecessary lines exchanged. Determinedly looking away. It works, at least kind of and the tournament itself along with their success only adds to the new easiness in Sergio’s life, as anyone who wins that title must surely feel on top of the world. So does he, while he’s on that pitch, when he gets the medal, when he’s soaked in champagne in the locker room, crowded by his teammates. It’s hot and everything feels like it’s swirling, too many impressions, too many sounds to process, no clear thought left in his brain and for once, he doesn’t even think about the striker. 

Until he’s pushed back first into some storage room, his head hitting the wall slightly painfully with a thud, door slamming closed and another body pressing close against his, familiar smell of aftershave, mixed with champagne and tobacco enveloping him instantly.

”I missed you.” Fernando growls into his ear and Sergio’s knees give in from the mere sound.

In a faraway corner of his mind, he knows that he is supposed to stop this before they destroy whatever fragile distance they managed to establish between them, but when he tries to speak up, the striker silences him with a kiss. It’s passionate, rough, with lots of biting, battling, growling. For an instant, Sergio’s senses return, make him try to shove Fernando away, but the older man pins his wrists to the wall above his head, with a single hand, grip intense but not too firm for Sergio to break away if he absolutely wanted to. Only, with the rapid beating of Fernando’s heart vibrating through his own body as their chests are pressed against each other, damp shirt against damp shirt, and with the taste of the striker lingering on his lips, with his cock already risen to the occasion, how could Sergio? With a desperate moan, he surrenders, pressing his lips back against Fernando’s, deepening the kiss again. His legs are made of pudding and all that holds him is the strikers weight pressing him into the wall and it feels good, so good.

It’s a side of Fernando he hasn’t seen yet, at least not this intense. The striker is taking, ravishing what he wants, what he needs, growling lowly and manhandling Sergio like he’s never done before. And Sergio doesn’t normally do this, but with Fernando It’s so different. The striker’s spell over him is too strong, it won’t let him refuse anything and he’s putty in the other man’s hands, willingly turning around, face against the rough bricks, not complaining at all when his pants are yanked down, coming to pool around his ankles.

”Let me have you,” Fernando’s voice hisses into his ear.

The words make him shudder, warmth pooling in his lap, his cock aching and leaking precome. Almost by instinct, he sticks his ass out, back arching, giving the other man better access, nodding frantically.

”Don’t worry ,it will be good,” Fernando whispers, a finger tracing Sergio’s spine and Fernando’s mouth now sucking a bruise in his neck.

He is not really worried, he couldn’t if he wanted to because the heat, the smell, the sounds, it’s too much, too sexy, making him too horny to do any coherent thinking right now. Under the touch of Fernando’s spit-slicked fingers, he turns into a needy puddle, squirming helplessly. His mouth spills and endless row of embarrassingly wanton whimpers and dirty swears, while the striker opens him, a bit too quickly but soon finding his prostate, relentlessly driving Sergio towards the edge. 

When his whimpers and swears turn into desperate, breathless please for release, he feels Fernando’s fingers close around his cock, moving in rhythm with the deep thrusts that never miss his prostate. He comes against the wall with a wail, Fernando biting down on the skin in his neck, surely leaving a mark and following him into ecstasy immediately.

When their afterglows have worn off and Fernando has pulled out, pulled Sergio’s pants back up and turned him in his hold, keeping him in a close embrace, Sergio feels tears on the striker’s cheeks and feels the shuddering of the other man’s body and all the despair and helplessness wash over him again.

”You have me, Nando,” he whispers, his own voice almost failing and his eyes wet with tears now, too, “you’ll always have me.”


	12. Memories - Las Memorias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no smut tonight, that's returning next chapter.
> 
> Thank you for the amazing feedback!! You have no idea how happy you all made me, I've basically been grinning like an idiot for days now! Thank you, thank you, thank you ♥ ♥ ♥

They’re not ready to let go off each other, Fernando knows it clearly. And it’s not happening. So the phone calls resume. Hours spent on balconies, smoking, talking, sometimes not even that. He’d never tell anyone anyway and much less would he confess that occasionally, they call but don’s speak and only listen to each other breathing over the phone. Way of flushing money down the drain. But it’s incredibly calming, soothing, comforting, just hearing that Sergio is there, knowing he cares, knowing they miss and need each other. As long as they’re on the phone, it’s all so easy, because during those hours, Fernando easily forgets about Olalla and the kids. Basically, he forgets about everything but Sergio and his world reduces to himself and the defender, reduces to a husky voice and even breathing, thousands of miles away. It’s beautiful, even if it’s once again stolen time and even if it’s bittersweet and usually ends with guilt. With long showers full of shame and regret, where he jerks off imagining Sergio’s face and then finds himself crying against the tiles after the afterglow wears off, regretting the cheating on his wife, even if it’s only in his visions. Slowly, the situation is taking its toll, is eating away little parts of him. Remarks from Olalla and his teammates about his smile being sad are made more frequently, people call him distant, unfocused. And he doesn’t even fight it, because he knows they’re right. _If I wasn’t a football player and neither was Sergio, we could have each other. No manager would ever have told us to get girlfriends and we’d be happily in love with each other. There’d be only us, no jealousy, no regrets, no guilt, no shame._

*

Should he feel guilty? Is it really his responsibility to stop this? Do they need to stop? They’re not having physical contact, they mostly couldn’t if they wanted to and actually, they even manage to stay away from each other during national duties. Not that it’s easy, not that he doesn’t spend countless hours with his fingers around his cock and an image of a squirming, panting, begging Fernando Torres in his head. But still, is it cheating when it’s only in your head? Or is it even worse, because it’s in your head and not just a bodily need? The questions are nagging in the back of Sergio’s head almost constantly, worrying him, bothering him. And he cannot control his ever growing jealousy, cannot help flinching, scowling, frowning as soon as Olalla is mentioned or, worse, he comes across a picture of her. That’s totally inappropriate, because she’s an angel and obviously deserves much, much better. But at the end of the day, Sergio is only human and he’s very much in love, for the first and hardest time in his life and he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. So he suffers in silence, living mostly for their phone calls, for the undisturbed hours of listening to Fernando’s voice or just his breathing. It’s enough to make his mind zone out, to allow him to relax, to erase all the sorrow for a few blissful moments. 

There are many hours, where he successfully manages to put the blame on Fernando, because Fernando is older and the one with the wife and the kids and because Fernando started everything. But even the best strategies fail sometimes and then he steps out of the shower, after coming against the tiles with a cry of Fernando’s name and he looks in the mirror and suddenly hates himself. Because a small part of him will always know that however badly the striker messes up, it’s always been in his own hands, too. Sergio could have stopped it at any point – but he was too selfish, is too selfish, to go through with it. Putting Fernando in sole responsibility is too easy. And now Sergio has to live with it, even if it's slowly but certainly breaking him.

*

They’d done so well, in a way, physically at least, and then this is happening, Fernando thinks, late at night, curled up in his bed – and holding Sergio against his chest. A very naked Sergio against his very naked chest. And while Sergio, after their explosion of passion; the two of them devouring each other like desperate animals; has fallen asleep like a stone, breathing evenly, face content, Fernando feels like hell broke loose. They crossed the line. Again. And the mere thought of Olalla makes him want to throw up. When he hasn’t closed an eyelid at 1 am, he carefully disentangles from the defender, sneaking out on the balcony, wrapped in a sheet. He stares into a dark, moonless sky, lights his cigarettes and cries silently. The tears just stream down his face without that he has any power to stop them. He won’t win, he can’t win, because whatever he does, he’ll fuck up. He’ll be the bad guy. Hell, he IS the bad guy already. But a small, very guilty, part in the back of his head, is so happy right now, so glad to have his Sese back, so content with the feeling that they’re actually going to repeat 2008, the shared room, shared bed, shared showers. And while he stares into the sky, finishing cigarette after cigarette, the tears slowly stop. Eventually, his cheeks dry. And the small part of happiness grows steadily, until he’s actually smiling softly into the night – and when he slips back under the covers, warming his cool body against Sergio’s back, it’s the first moment where he ever considers leaving her for him. Making a clear cut. They wouldn’t be the first parents to fail at staying married, it could go well. Right?

*

He loves it. Oh yes, he does. He wakes up in Fernando’s arms, he falls asleep in them. He has Fernando on his knees in the shower, he has Fernando’s hand on his thigh under the breakfast table and he has his smile. That most beautiful, drop dead gorgeous smile full of fondness and affection, finally not tainted by the usual spark of sadness, just warm and pure and genuine. Sergio treasures each and every second, but what he needs and craves and loves most are their nights on the balcony, cuddled up under a shared cover, sharing cigarettes and sometimes a bit of wine, talking about football, life and, terrifying and amazing at the same time, about the future. They fantasize about staying single, about Fernando coming back to Madrid, about going to clubs on the weekend as two fresh singles, about house hunting, trips to the sea, dinners at restaurants. Retiring from football reasonably early. And coming out, after carefully preparing their families. It could work. It’s a hell of a thin ice and probably the craziest thing either of them ever thought about. But it could, highly theoretically work. 

He feels incredibly close to paradise and the Euro Cup, a highly successful tournament to say the least, passes him in a blur. They win and win and win and it only seems natural, because he’s winning his Nando, right? So of course they win the title. Sergio isn’t even surprised. And he’s happily floating on a cloud of seeming perfection, ready to scream everything out into the world. Until that one moment. That moment where, after the match, during the celebrations, his eyes inevitably fall on Fernando and his kids. That one, stupid moment of disaster that changes everything, because Sergio cannot look away. He cannot deny what he is doing, how much responsibility exactly he does have. It’s not deniable what he’s about to break. Or might have broken already. In the middle of his cheery teammates, he suddenly feels dizzy and nauseous, tears springing to his eyes and his stomach turning violently. _I can’t do it. Oh God, Nando, I’m so sorry, but I can’t do it. I’d never forgive myself. You’d regret it eventually, you’d blame me, you would never forgive me either. I’m so sorry._

He disappears, hiding in an empty toilet stall, crying his heart out. Later, his teammates eye him suspiciously, the ones that aren’t too drunk, anyway, but he gets by with blaming everything at being emotional. But in a quiet moment, before heading out to the bus, he pulls Fernando aside. And he tells him that it won’t work and that he’s sorry. Sergio bursts into tears and wants to kneel at the striker’s feet, wants to tell him over and over just how sorry he is, but Fernando won’t have any of it, just hoarsely telling him that he understands. His face shatters Sergio’s heart, because he’s never seen his friend so hopeless, so empty before. _And it's all my fault._

”I still love you, remember that.” Fernando whispers against his ear, hand running through Sergio’s hair.

And then the striker leans in to kiss him, gently, soft lips barely touching Sergio’s. The defender briefly tastes the familiar mix of champagne and tobacco, closes his eyes. They stand like that for a bit, foreheads and lips touching and he feels the tears on the older man’s cheeks, mixing with his own. _I love you, too._ But Sergio doesn’t say it, doesn’t have the heart tonight. Instead, he runs a hand through Fernando’s hair, down his spine and then he pulls away, exchanging a last look. Fernando looks like a wounded deer and it’s unbearable to look at him right now, so Sergio turns around and walks away. Not his finest moment. Not their finest moment. But it’s for the better, he tells himself, not sure he’s believing his own lies.

_Yo se que no he sido un santo..._


	13. Sin - El Pecado

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for everything! ♥ And of course, feedback highly appreciated ♥ Your hits and kudos and comments make my life so much happier ♥

They stop the calls and Sergio watches Fernando deteriorate from a distance. He reads the headlines and they make him furious, he follows lineups with a frown and then he finds himself at national duty without his Nando. It’s not right, even if they’re not speaking at the moment. Even if his heart breaks at the thought of Fernando. Even if being around Fernando has become a torture. Being without Fernando is still worse. The situation is making his heart clench and his stomach flip unpleasantly, it takes away his focus and lets his smile fade. That doesn’t go unnoticed, obviously, as he is expected to be a happily expecting father. Thing is, Sergio has never been overly good at acting. 

”Call him,” Pilar says, when she finds him at the kitchen table, holding Fernando’s card congratulating them for the birth, crying into a glass of vodka. 

”I will,” he says, knowing he won’t do it and she pats his shoulder, mumbling something about wishing to find out what happened between them.

And the longer he is with Pilar, the more he looks at his newborn child, the more he knows that he can’t call Fernando. They can’t. Just like Fernando’s kids had reminded him of that fact in 2012. On the other hand, he blatantly fails at letting Fernando go. Because he cannot stop reading every snippet published about the striker, cannot help crossing his fingers for him every time Chelsea is on the pitch, wishing for him to be on the team, praying for him to come back to national duty. At some point, at least the last prayer is granted and yes, Sergio heart jumps with joy when he finds out. Not that they’d do something as crazy as room together. They barely even talk. But just knowing Fernando is there, it’s comforting somehow. Except when the striker is not playing in their first match and Sergio’s heart breaks over and over again, not missing the flash of resignation on the older man’s face, realizing that still, after all that happened, he somehow thinks of him as his best friend.

*

Over the last two years, Fernando has done his best to stay away. Accepting Sergio’s no, finally, something he should have done years ago. And it hurt and it broke him, but with Olalla and Pilar and now three kids, Fernando cannot deny that it’s for the better. Only, with his fledgling career and the loss of Sergio, his world has turned into a very dark and lonely place lately. Even the happiness about being there for the World Cup is a short one, because it’s soon obvious that he won’t be playing. There’s a weight on his shoulder, pressing him down relentlessly and watching them literally sink is not making it better. There’s something akin despair on Sergio’s face and on the bench, Fernando feels all the air squeezed out of his lungs, his heart thumping too loudly and nausea rising. There’s a moment, short before the game is – finally – over and their embarrassment ends, where his eyes lock with Sergio’s, pain shooting through him from head to toe. The urge he feels to run out on the grass, hug the younger defender and comfort him, it’s simply overwhelming, as strong as the desire to kiss his children better when they fall and hurt themselves. And that’s the moment, that brief look of utter sadness, where their next downfall begins.

After the game, atmosphere gloomy, tense, close to eruption, he catches Sergio in an elevator and they stand there, both obviously nervously, fidgeting with their hands, swallowing audibly. Fernando sees the blush creep on Sergio’s cheeks and notices the stolen glances. So, he thinks, it’s only logical that it happens, that instead of getting out on his floor, he follows Sergio up, enters Sergio’s and Iker’s room after the defender wordlessly. It’s only logical to step out on the balcony, sit there together, offer Sergio a cigarette and accept that Sergio doesn’t take his own but rather steals the occasional drag from Fernando’s. They don’t need a single word to establish it, to fall back into a familiar routine, knees touching, shoulders touching. Fernando’s skin burns from the closeness and his breath hitches. Somehow, Iker seems to be aware of everything, but he’s probably always been in the picture. Either way, his head pops up in the balcony door, telling them he’ll be with Juan and Pepe for a bit. Fernando doesn’t know how Iker knows, he doubts Sergio would have told them, but he doesn’t care either, he’s just grateful that apparently, the goalkeeper is willing to help them.

As soon as the door has shut behind their captain, Sergio moves to straddle him, crashing their lips, devouring him. It’s every bit as he remembers it, same mix of aftershave and tobacco, slight scratch from Sergio’s stubble, calloused fingers under his T-Shirt, their light touch making Fernando shiver. He’s missed that so much, he thinks, this feeling of being safe, held, loved. Fernando surrenders to the kiss, gives in to Sergio’s pressure, his lips parting willingly. He feels the other bite his lip, tastes the hint of blood shared along with their saliva, he feels Sergio’s hands roam over his back and his own fingers clench in the defender’s shirt, needing something to hold onto. Behind his closed eyes, he feels the tears dwell up and eventually, they roll down his cheeks, mixing with the wetness from Sergio’s face. When they finally break apart, panting, eyes bleary, fingers clutching to each other, Fernando just stares, tries to read Sergio’s face. He needs to know the lines for tonight and when he sees the deep sadness, he knows that despite the hardness in their jeans, he’s too close to crossing boundaries. He gently disentangles from the defender who moves to sit next to him again and they share another wordless cigarette, now staring into a black sky. Eventually, they walk inside with their fingers laced and Fernando stays on Sergio’s bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his finger’s running through the defender’s hair. He only leaves when Iker comes back inside, somewhere around 1 am, Sergio long asleep. Before he steps out, he looks one last time, trying hard to memorize as much of the gorgeous image as possible. 

*

Sergio regrets – but strangely, not quite as much as he expected. Maybe it’s because of the generally dark mood, maybe because Pilar and Olalla seem far away. He cannot put his finger on it and while he wants himself to be buried in shame, he cannot deny that it was perfect out on that balcony. For a few days, they repeat the same procedure, again and again, always on his balcony, Iker considerate enough to leave them a couple of hours. Nothing more than kissing though. Sergio is not sure if that’s an improvement, but somehow, the line has been drawn and he doesn’t dare to bring it up.

It kind of works, in all it’s raw, imperfect nature, but then the unimaginable happens. The match against Chile must be the worst in his entire life, so much more heartbreaking than 2006 even and the last minutes pass in a blur of disbelief, tears already prickling, air scarce, skin ice-cold. He feels like a letdown, like a complete loser, like a nothing. Later, he doesn’t remember anything that happened between walking into the tunnel and then recovering some of his senses in his hotel bed, pinned down by Fernando, dark eyes piercing him. They’re both naked, sweaty already, hard cocks rubbing against each other and Fernando kisses him, wildly, possessively, biting his lip and sucking on his tongue. The striker’s hands hold his wrists in place and then he pulls his head back, prompting Sergio to stare up at him. The dark eyes are even darker than usual and Fernando’s lips, dark red, glistening with their saliva, must be the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

”You’re enough,” Fernando growls into his ear, instinctively knowing just the right words to say.

Sergio whines and the older man lets go of his hands now, stroking a line down his sides and then lifting his ankles to put them up on Fernando’s shoulders. For a moment, he feels too vulnerable, too exposed, but then Fernando’s mouth is back against his ear, hissing ‘you’re enough’ again, sound making the defender shiver from head to toe. Fernando, with his amazing knowledge about everything Sergio needs, often better than Sergio himself, licks his fingers and starts spreading him. It takes forever, because spit is not the perfect lube and because it seems that the striker wants to savor. At least, that’s how Sergio feels, with Fernando’s eyes observing him more closely and intensely than ever, seemingly memorizing each of his expressions. Slow or not, Fernando does a skilled job, finding Sergio’s prostate with practiced ease and turning the younger into a wanton puddle, begging for release, begging to be fucked. And his wish is granted, Fernando entering him with a single, painful thrust, stilling immediately after to let him adjust. Sergio’s hands tangle in the striker’s hair, searching hold, needing hold and when the pain has faded to a bearable burn and his breathing has returned to normal, he opens his eyes and nods, prompting Fernando to move. Fernando thrusts slowly and deeply, always aiming for the exact same spot and he has more stamina than Sergio ever expected. Eventually, his senses fade, his mind gone complete, total overload of sensations and he comes untouched, only from Fernando’s moves, his come hot and sticky between their stomachs. While the tidal waves of an orgasm are still washing over him, Fernando must have come, too, growling his name one final time and they stay there, collapsed against each other, for a long time, so that Sergio drifts away with his head against Fernando’s and the striker’s hand in his hair.

*

Fernando had waited for Sergio to fall asleep before he left, glad Iker hadn’t returned yet. Their captain knew, of course, but he still wouldn’t have wanted to be caught in the act of still without clothes and dried come on his stomach. His own sleep is restless, short, guilt crashing over him once again, along with the realization that however hard they try, they won’t manage to stay away from each other. Not for long at least. And maybe he wants it that way.

For their last game, he’s actually allowed to play, but that’s a weak comfort after a devastating tournament, all of them aware that it’s their last match during this World Cup. It doesn’t make a difference that they win, it doesn’t make a difference that they ‘saved their face’. They failed, they disappointed and they hurt. And after the shit years he’s been through, this is about the last thing Fernando needed to add to his list of disappointments. It’s making him angry, at himself and the world and by the time they’re back in the hotel, he is so furious, that instead of waiting for Iker to leave them to it, he shoves Sergio in the hotel bar’s restroom, backing the defender into one of the toilet stalls, door slammed shut and locked behind them. He’s quick to drop to his knees, unzipping the other’s jeans with his teeth, fingers holding Sergio’s hips in place. When he swallows him down whole and without further warning, the defender’s hands clench tightly in Fernando’s hair, nails digging into his scalp, but he needs this, he wants this tonight, so badly. Above him, Sergio is moaning and he feels tears dwell up behind his eyes, struggling to control his gag reflex, grip on Sergio’s hips tightening to keep the other from choking him. Eventually, he accommodates, enough even to hand control over to Sergio, to let the other fuck his mouth. And Sergio seems to need this, too, yanking on Fernando’s hair, thrusting deep and rough. It’s all the bittersweet pain Fernando wants and craves, maybe seeking punishment for everything that has gone down the drain. He lets go of Sergio’s hips, shoving a hand down his own pants and when a growling Sergio comes down his throat, he finishes himself off hastily, all the while cleaning up Sergio lovingly, until the defender pulls away with a whimper, oversensitive cock probably aching under the ministrations. 

They stay like that, Sergio with his back against the wall and Fernando still on his knees, in a tiny, not overly clean bathroom stall. They are sweaty and desperately gasping for air and between them, their fingers are laced, a last fragile bond that’s broken when Fernando finally pushes himself up, tugging his clothes in place. He throws Sergio a last glance, biting his lower lip, not wanting to show anymore weakness, not wanting to cry, meeting Sergio’s gorgeous but also heartbreakingly sad eyes for a second, wordlessly asking forgiveness and receiving an almost invisible nod. _I love you._ He thinks the words, but this time, neither of them says it out loud.

”It’s over, right?”

He hears Sergio’s voice, husky, breathless and yes, it’s over and Fernando has to get out of here quickly, because if he doesn’t, he will collapse into a sobbing mess. So he nods and turns around, practically fleeing to his room. _And we did it again._


	14. Collision - La Colisión

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are the events right before the prologue. So we're almost at the end :/ Thank you so much for reading, kudossing and commenting! It makes writing so much easier and more fun and I have savored every line of writing this ♥

**Madrid, January 2015**

He’s coming back. His Nando is coming back. Sergio’s heart won’t stop jumping and he can hardly focus or sit still or process anything going on around him, while the headline from the news keeps repeating itself in his head over and over. _Torres back to Atletico_. Back home. He’s really coming back home. Late at night, Sergio disentangles from Pilar and sneaks outside, wrapping himself in sweats and a hoodie on the way. In the back of his wardrobe, he finds a rumpled little carton, a few completely dry cigarettes left from months ago, when he still needed them while they were talking on the phone. They hadn’t done that anymore. Not after the World Cup. Not after he said it was over. No calls, no texts, for the first time ever, there was nothing. 

*

Fernando gets off the plane with shaky legs. It feels strangely solemn to set his feet on the ground here, back home. Yes, even after all these years away, it’s still his home. Only it’s nothing like it was, he is nothing like he was. The guy who left as one of the best strikers in the world, hopeful future ahead, returns a broken man. His old home is gone, Olalla not going to follow him until in a couple of weeks, waiting for their new home to be ready. Most of his friends have left the city. And the one thing that always made him love Madrid, the one person that made the city different from any other in the world, had clearly told him no last summer. Despite the agony it had sent him through, Fernando had finally managed to respect Sergio’s no as an answer. He’s taken a step back, left the defender by himself. Not that it’s been easy, when all he ever wanted was to have Sergio as his, but he managed. And, he grits his teeth, Fernando is determined to keep things that way.

*

It hurts when he hears that Fernando is in town, because he doesn’t hear it from Fernando but from Iker. And after he’s spent a day in misery, pitying himself, feeling his stomach twist a thousand times, his hands shaking constantly, he eventually decides to fix things. Because as far as he is concerned, he was the one who broke it. Broke them. Pilar doesn’t seem suspicious when he tells her he’ll visit Iker and crash on the goalie’s couch. Why should she? They’ve done that before. And Iker doesn’t question him when he asks for Fernando’s hotel. They’ve never spoken about it and he doubts Fernando has, but for some reason, Iker seemed to be in the picture all along. At first, the keeper hesitates, then admits he doesn’t know and hangs up on a disappointed Sergio who finishes his last cigarette on the way to his car, only to get a text from Iker.

_Hotel La Roja, Room 159. Play nice. Iker._

Sergio holds his breath and feels his blood freeze. _The same room. The very same room._ It has to mean something, he decides. While he drives through the city, sky dark and colorful lights everywhere, he is shaking from head to toe with anticipation. In his head, he only repeats one word, like a chant, _Nando_. Everything he wants, everything he needs, everything he loves and it’s so close, so goddamn close. 

*

The knock is not unexpected, yet it’s not really welcome. Fernando misses Sergio. He loves Sergio with all of his heart. But he knows, he truly knows he cannot have Sergio and since he’s fully realized that, he prefers a distance between them. Because pining from far away is painful, but bittersweet and bearable. Being close to Sergio is no less than torturous. He’s biting his bottom lip when he opens the door, holding his breath and urging his legs to stay in place and not give in.

”Nando.”

The way he says his name alone is enough to make Fernando’s knees buckle. That affection. Everything would be so much easier if they could just dislike each other.

”Come in.”

And Sergio does, comes to stand in front of him, faint smell of cigarettes surprising the striker.

”You didn’t call.”

_You obviously didn’t either. And you didn’t want me to. You said it was over. So stop sounding hurt._

”Seemed the appropriate thing to do,” Fernando snaps, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

”Listen, Nando, I’m sorry, I-“ he sees Sergio swallow hard and Fernando knows it’s more his fault than the younger man’s but right now he’s just too angry, “I’m sorry, but I thought, I mean… We both have kids and women waiting for us and I thought-“

”Shouldn’t you be with your family right now then?” Fernando hisses and he knows his voice is too cold and he regrets the words the second they’re out.

He sees the defender’s arm move and tries to back away, but Sergio’s fist still connects with his jaw. Not overly painful, not hard enough to seriously break anything, but probably hard enough for a bruise. 

*

Sergio stares at his own fist and then at Fernando’s face in disbelief, his mind blank and his head dizzy. As if he was under some haze, he watches, seeing things in slow motion, Fernando’s fingers tracing his own jaw and checking for blood, eyes incredulous. The defender is too shocked, to paralyze to react when Fernando grabs him and for a moment, he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting the blow. It never comes. Instead, he finds himself pinned down to the wrist, Fernando kneeling over him and staring at his face. The striker’s pupils are dilated and Sergio can hear his breath hitch. When Fernando raises a questioning eyebrow, the Sevillan surrenders with a nod, finding himself stripped of jeans and boxers while his mouth is claimed, both of them growling into the kiss. There’s the typical taste of tobacco and mint, along with the coppery sting of blood, the smell of Fernando’s aftershave envelops him and everything is hot and burns, because Fernando’s fingers are everywhere, finding all the good spots on his body. Under the two darkest eyes he’s ever seen, Sergio feels himself dissolve into a needy, wanton mess, pathetic whimpers released into Fernando’s mouth and his helpless fingers digging sharply into the fabric of Fernando’s shirt. The striker doesn’t back off, won’t let him escape and it’s not like Sergio would rather be anywhere else right now. He’s not even embarrassed how willingly his legs fall open when Fernando’s hand moves between them. He doesn’t hesitate to urge the older man closer the second he feels himself open enough. And Fernando complies with the unspoken plea, buries himself to the hilt with a single thrust. The pain shoots through Sergio’s body, makes him shudder. Yet, it’s a delicious burn, part of him begging for just that hurt, because it makes him feel so wanted, so owned. He notices the denim rubbing against his thighs uncomfortably, Fernando not having bothered to take off any of his clothes, only his jeans unbuckled. It’s a strange feeling, somehow heartbreaking but also a way of receiving the punishment Sergio is seeking after everything he’s done. 

”You’re all I ever wanted.” Fernando finally pulls his head back and growls into Sergio’s ear, before thrusting at an even less forgiving pace.

For a moment, the defender’s world comes to a stop, the older player’s words difficult to process and then he understands and it throws him over the edge. Not Fernando’s fingers around his cock, not the rubbing against his prostate, no, the simple statement does all the trick. He cries out, spurting over their shirts and Fernando follows him without hesitation, loud growl announcing his climax.

The fireworks fade quickly this time, the world returning to a reality where he’s on a hotel bed in nothing but a come-covered T-Shirt, panting for his life, his hands clutched in Fernando’s equally soiled top.

”Sorry,” Sergio mutters, scrambling off the bed and getting a hold of his jeans, while out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Fernando bury his head in the pillow.

*

_Nothing to be sorry for._ Fernando thinks it, but doesn’t say it loud, instead wordlessly climbing out of the bed. He hands Sergio a fresh T-Shirt and when the defender changes, he cannot help noticing the perfect torso, marveling the movement of the muscles in his back, mesmerized by the marks his own nails have left only minutes ago. _Not going to be easy to explain those to Pilar._ And his own back won’t look much different, so he’ll have to hope it heals quickly before Olalla returns. Fernando takes a moment to change his own shirt as well and then fixes his jeans, locking eyes with Sergio. They have an entire conversation without saying single word and he tries desperately to put all his emotions in his look, to show Sergio how sorry he is for messing up, how inconsolably sorry. When the sad eyes looking back at him become too much to bear, he tentatively holds out his lighter, relieved about the small nod from the younger man. Grabbing their hoodies on the way, they step outside in silence and the memory of the same balcony, almost seven years earlier, when the future was still open wide and bright weighs heavy on Fernando’s shoulder. _I really thought we might make it._


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the last chapter was the one leading to the scene from the prologue, this actually explains what happens afterwards.
> 
> Thank you for every bit of feedback, each hit, kudo and comment. You've made me a happier person and writing this, though always wonderful, has been even more wonderful thanks to you ♥
> 
> I am beyond grateful!

”I am sorry,” Fernando whispers, skin burning where Sergio’s fingers touched him seconds ago.

”You? What for?” Sergio asks and he sounds genuinely confused.

Fernando needs a moment to find the right words. Then realizes there are no right words. And he takes a deep breath, hands fidgeting with his lighter, before he finally looks at Sergio with the first hint of tears dwelling up.

”I started it. It was me who failed this. If I would have stayed away from you then, in 2006-“

”Sh,” Sergio silences him with a finger on his lips, “if it hadn’t happened then, it would have happened later. And anyway, I should be sorry.”

”What should you be sorry for?”

”First of all, for hitting you. And second, for not seeing how conflicted you were because of Olalla and the kids. I never understood, didn’t want to see it, but I know now. And I’m sorry.”

”Don’t be. Maybe we have nothing to be sorry for.” Fernando shrugs, eyeing the city underneath him and feeling strangely distant, realizing he’s not quite ‘home’ yet. “Now that we’re living so close again though,” Fernando swallows hard, feels the first tears on his skin, the pain in his chest unbearable because he knows what he has to say, “we have to stay away from each other. We’d only drive each other insane.”

He fights the impulse to bury himself in Sergio’s hoodie and keeps looking at the defender who is nodding, but also biting his lips and visibly holding back the tears.

”One night?” Sergio is looking away from him now and the broken sound in the defender’s voice makes Fernando dizzy.

He knows what he should say. What he should do. And does the complete opposite, pulling the younger in for a hug, head nuzzling next to his ear.

”Okay, Sese. One night.”

*

Sergio more or less carries Fernando inside the room, his eyes transfixed on the older man’s face, rediscovering every line and freckle, noticing the stains of tears on his cheeks, the way he bites his lips, the way he is staring back up at him out of his dark eyes. There’s all the affection in the world, only waiting for him, Sergio thinks while he gently puts Fernando down, kissing him tentatively while shoving their jeans out of the way. He licks into Fernando’s mouth, savoring the taste, movements of his tongue languid. To shed their shirts and hoodies, he has to break away, giving them a second to stare at each other, giving him a second to see the glimmer of desire and need in the striker’s eyes. 

The tears won’t stop flowing tonight, not his, not Fernando’s. Their cheeks are damp throughout the kiss and everything tastes salty when Sergio’s tongue makes his way down the perfect body, toned like a Greek God, the body that is supposed to be his and yet, never will be for him. He licks a line down the striker’s chest, reaching the navel and Fernando’s hands find his hair in the gloomy room, holding tight while his tongue reaches the older man’s cock. Reveling in the wanton noises above him, the little obscenities spilling from the other’s mouth, he swallows him down, sucking until the striker bucks up, back arching desperately. There’s a desperate whimper when he pulls away, but he doesn’t even notice anymore, he’s completely focused on his task for the night. With little licks, his tongue moves from Fernando’s balls to his hole and the striker all but screams when Sergio’s tongue starts licking him there. He takes his time, teasing at first, before he breaches him ever so slowly and he keeps the game up until there is nothing but a quivering, begging mess beneath him.

”Okay?” He asks, two fingers pushing inside at the same time, already searching for that one spot.

Fernando nods frantically, whimpering softly. Then, Sergio just crooking his fingers, he swears, loudly, obscenely, hips jerking and back arching again, announcing that Sergio has found what he was looking for. With his own cock painfully hard, he feels that he cannot wait much longer and withdraws hastily, hoping and praying he’s prepared the other well enough. He pushes himself up, bringing his face to Fernando’s, lips locking in a gentle kiss and Fernando’s legs wrap around his waist, pressing him closer when he starts burying himself. They don’t have sex, they make love, movements of their hips not frantic or urgent, but small and slow, accompanied by soft moans and panting now. For a moment, pushed up on trembling arms, eyes locked intensely with Fernando’s, Sergio thinks he could keep going forever. And he is sure as hell trying to drag things, but even the best self-restraint is bound to fail eventually, especially when he’s buried in Fernando, balls-deep, surrounded by delicious hot wetness. His fingers tug on Fernando’s cock and the striker comes almost untouched, only a long growl falling from his lips. He takes Sergio right with him over the edge and for once, neither of them cares about the sticky mess they made.

Even after their orgasms have long faded and senses have returned, they stay wrapped in a tight embrace, Sergio’s head in Fernando’s neck, their chests heaving against each other’s. It’s over, he knows it, tears dripping into the striker’s hair. Eventually, he disentangles himself, cleaning both of them, eyes meeting Fernando’s and noticing how the striker is almost asleep already. When he slips back under the sheets, they rest on their sides, foreheads touching, eyes closed, his fingers in Fernando’s hair and Fernando tracing patterns on his back.

”That was beautiful,” the older whispers.

_I know. Dammit. I know._

”I love you, Nando, don’t you ever forget.” His voice almost breaks. Almost.

”I loveyou, too,” the striker snuggles even closer against him, hot breath burning Sergio’s neck, “I love you more than I love myself.”

*

It’s not a surprise when he wakes up alone the next morning, but it hurts nonetheless. His eyes fall to the note on the other pillow and he heads for the bathroom, emptying the content of his stomach into the toilet bowl. When he returns, teeth brush, clad in boxers now, he takes it shaky fingers.

*

Sergio never explains to Pilar where he was the most part of the night. They never talk about the marks on his back. Maybe she knows and is too wise to ask. He doesn’t care, bravely facing her over the breakfast table, trying to smile through the agonizing pain in his chest and against the numbness that captured him the moment he stepped out of that hotel. The sun has long risen, shining through their kitchen window, but somehow, Sergio thinks, it’s not getting any lighter today.

**Five years later…**

Fernando sinks down on the bench, eyeing his shoes. It’s the last match. The _last_. The thought is weighing heavy on his heart, too heavy to bear right now. There’s a reason he came in extra early, searching for a way to give himself a few last, undisturbed minutes in the changing room that accompanied him over so many years. With a crooked smile, he opens his locker, reaches into a hidden corner, producing a very old, very rumpled cigarette box. The last box he ever bought, the box that held the last cigarettes he ever smoked. Memories resurface, from a somewhat shabby hotel, a narrow balcony, bustling city sounds and room that in his memory only consists of a bed and a face. The most beautiful face in the world that he hasn’t been close to in years. Still the silent longing, the quiet ache in his heart have never quite subsided. So he’s standing here now, on the last day, a neatly folded piece of paper out of the small box. It’s obviously been touched countless times, but it’s folder accurately and he looks at the words, tears prickling in his eyes and his smile turning affectionate.

_You’re enough, too. Never forget._

_“Anyone who ever gave you confidence, you owe them a lot.”_  
~Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany's 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry. I realize that many wished for a different ending and I might be doing a happier thing and/or more of them in general soon, but this one had been written all along and though I was tempted to change it, in the end I decided it was for the better to leave it the way it was supposed to be.
> 
>  
> 
> _...Soy como el ave que vuelve a su nido_

**Author's Note:**

> Title, quotes and stuff from Shakira feat. Alejandro Sanz, La Tortura


End file.
